Fight Club
by casus17
Summary: Still reeling after the latest encounter with the Demon, Dean and Sam find the hunt to keep away grief and guilt. But what happens when something even the Winchesters never believed in finds them first? Follows on directly from Tortured Soul. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Shockwaves

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, I'd know all their secrets. Alas, I know nothing, which is also what I own.

**Warning:** Unabashed angst.

**Author's Note:** So, this is the next instalment. It takes off immediately after Tortured Soul, as in, it starts on the same night where I killed John. If you haven't read Tortured Soul, you might have some trouble keeping up, so if I were you, I'd read that one first. Don't worry, it's good! Well, I think it is. How about you?

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENSEN ACKLES! This post is to celebrate the glorious coming of one sexy man-beast.

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FIGHT CLUB

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Chapter 1: Shockwaves

The streets seemed far too bare, even for the late hour. The moon shone overhead, the weather was calm and pleasant, and even though the weekend was not yet upon the town of Cromwell, it was still far too quiet. There was no one around.

No one except for the man running madly through the streets, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to hide from the people chasing him. Blake McMillan panted heavily, having already run a fair distance, and wished he had his gun at his side. Not to kill them or hurt them, but to scare them off. He was a cop, he didn't want to kill anyone.

Not that it would have helped, him shooting the chasers, but he didn't know that.

He skidded around a corner, a puddle of something indescribable almost making him slip. He groaned as he realized it allowed his followers to catch up somewhat. Was there no way to loose these guys?

And then out of nowhere someone tackled him, and they both fell to the ground. The air was driven from Blake's lungs and he lay there, heaving, even as the tackler got to his feet. The rest of them caught up in no time at all.

Blake looked up at them standing in a circle around him, wondering who the hell they were. He had never seen them before. There were five of them, including the one that had come from nowhere, tall, pale, dark eyed, though now and then some of their eye's seemed to flash. And none of them were panting, even after chasing him all over the town.

"Gave a good chase, didn't he," one of them suddenly said. "Hopefully he'll be just as good in the ring. Bring him."

The speaker turned on his heels and left, assuming the rest would follow his orders. They did, and Blake felt hands grab his arms. He tried to struggle but their strength was practically inhuman. Still, he struggled despite the instant knowledge it was useless, and one turned on him, hissing in annoyance.

Blake fell back as the… thing leered at him, feeling true fear for the first time that night. Because he had never seen a mouth like that.

A mouth full of long, pointy teeth, brightly pale in the dark of the night.

* * *

The trip back into Cromwell was silent and uncomfortable. Both Winchester brothers felt the keen grief cutting away at their hearts, and couldn't or wouldn't find the words to stop the pain.

They had left the damned farm the moment their father's funeral pyre had burned down to embers, leaving the ashes to scatter. Dean wished he could pretend it had had some deeply symbolic meaning behind it, like that their father would always and forever travel America, going wherever he pleased, driven only by the wind. But it hadn't. Rather, both brothers had been too tired to gather the ashes, too emotionally exhausted to even give their father that last farewell in a special place.

They had only packed the Impala with their stuff and left, desperate to leave behind the terrible memories of that place. It was there that their father had died, there that they had lost hope for a terribly bare instant, there that their world had shattered.

Sam gazed unseeing out of the passenger window, watching the darkened land roll by. Dean could tell by the pale look to his face what he was thinking about. He knew by the broken light to his baby brother's eyes that he blamed himself for John's demise.

He withheld a sigh but shifted uncomfortably on the seat. He had his final orders, though in reality those orders had been unneeded. There was no way in the world that Dean was going to let Sam spiral with guilt.

"Sam," he began, not realizing he was using that voice he reserved for the fragile minded victims or witnesses of a hunt. But the younger hunter picked up on it easily, and his face gave way to anger.

"Dean, don't start, okay. I'm tired. I just want to rest."

Dean spared him a quick glance. He almost wished he knew what was going through Sam's head. Almost wished he knew what the demon had done to him to make him this way. To make him this quiet, crushed Sam. Almost.

"It wasn't your fault. Dad didn't blame you," Dean said, leaping into the conversation. Sam closed his eyes and turned his head away, leaning it against the cool of the window.

"Dean, please," he whispered. "Just leave it."

"No way," Dean retorted. "If we 'just leave it', we'll never talk about it, and you'll let it eat away at you. I'm not having you do that." _I'm not losing you too._ But, no, he wasn't about to go that far into sensitivity. Not yet, and only if needed.

He had a feeling it would be.

"Look, we'll talk," Sam promised. "Just not…"

He trailed off suddenly, opening his eyes and looking around, his gaze searching for something. The car must have passed it, because he kept on looking, turning his head behind as the car continued on.

"What is it?" Dean asked, not liking the look on Sam's face.

The younger man shook his head, looking back out of the front window. "Nothing. I just thought… sorry, my imagination's playing up."

They reached the motel at that moment, and Dean brought the car to a gentle halt. But he didn't get out.

"We have to talk about it sometime," Dean tried to start again. Sam cut him off before he could go further.

"Why?" Sam snapped. "Because you say? So, when I want to talk, that doesn't count. But the instant Dad orders you to be all Mr Emotional, you do it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped back before he could help himself.

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. I don't know. I'm so tired, Dean. I just need to sleep."

Dean stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. "I think we both do."

They left everything in the car and went into their room, glad to find their belongings still there even after not coming in the night before. Sam noticed Dean suddenly all quiet, but didn't press on it. He didn't want to talk. About anything. He just wanted to forget. And he hoped he could do that for at least a moment as he slept. At least until the dreams came, nightmares of what the demon had whispered to him the moment before it tried to fry his mind. Nightmares of what it all but promised he would become…

They got ready for bed in the same uncomfortable silence that had filled the car on the trip back into town. Dean went to shower, but Sam lay down on his bed, fully dressed, and pretended to be asleep when Dean came back in.

The minutes ticked by, easily marked by the constant flashing of the alarm clock. Sam lay in his bed, breathing gently, unmoving. But not sleeping. He had started counting the flashes of light five times before Dean's soft snores began to rip through the room.

He had turned and let his face contort into a snarl before he realized what he was doing. Horrified, he turned back to face the wall, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to shut out the demon's traces that were still within him. Trying to shut out those niggling words…

_You'll find me again, Sammy. You won't be able to help yourself. There's a darkness in you, and you know it. You know it can take over._

Never! he snarled at the memory, just as he had snarled at the demon. He knew the darkness was there, he'd known ever since he had rescued Dean from Eve and lost his sight. But he would never let it take over. Never!

Breathing harder, he wished… he wasn't sure what he wished. He would begin to hope for something, would start that sentence, _I wish…_ But he couldn't finish it. Couldn't finish the damn thought, because his head felt so jumbled. So tainted by the darkness the demon had spoken of, and tainted by the demon itself.

If he closed his eyes, it was still in there. He could still see the dark shadow clawing at his mind, tearing it apart with satisfaction and glee beyond human comprehension. He could feel it's ecstatic anticipation as it stared down at that baby boy, the one called Drew, and the joy as it began to kill the young mother, the one called Amelia. And he could feel its elation as it literally ripped his father apart from the inside.

And all of that hurt, all of it caused the grief and guilt to swell up inside of him, making it difficult to breath. But it was nothing to the horror he felt as his mind gave way to the demon's incessant advances, to the demon's psychic torture as it ripped his mind apart.

Suddenly unable to breath, Sam threw the covers off and got up, stumbling noiselessly as he made it to the bathroom. There he closed the door, but left the light off, leaning on the basin as he tried to make the world stop spinning.

He breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. If he closed his eyes it just made the dizziness worse, so he kept them open and looked into them, trying to ignore the yellow tint he swore was there, far inside him. He looked at himself, and one word came unbidden to mind.

_Murderer._

He swallowed, ruthlessly shoving the thought away. But it was too late. He had killed his father, he _had_, whatever Dean wanted to pretend. He had been weak, and useless, unable to stop the demon as his own mind ripped his father apart, unable to stop the darkness. The same went with the still nameless girl, whom the demon had lured back to her own apartment. He hadn't been able to save either of them. He hadn't.

His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, leaning against the cupboard underneath the basin. His hands shook and he clenched them, trying to stop it. He could smell it on him, the blood that was invisible on his hands. His dad's blood, that girl's blood. They had died, and it was his fault, because he wasn't strong enough.

Suddenly smell overwhelmed him; the imaginary smell of blood, the all-too-real smell of ash and fire on his clothes, the stench of fear and pain the demon had so revelled in. His hands shook as he ripped his shirt off, realizing he hadn't changed it. Realizing it smelt of John's burning body.

That was too much. Unable to keep the bile down any longer, he crawled quickly to the toilet, leaning on it as he retched, trying to do it as quietly as possible so to avoid waking Dean.

* * *

Dean was already awake. He had woken as Sam all but fell out of the bed across from him. And he hadn't moved to follow his little brother. Instead, he had listened. Listened to the silence as Sam had done God knew what. Listened to the thump as Sam's legs gave way. Listened to the shuffling and the retching as Sam crawled to the toilet and threw up all his feelings. And he did nothing.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in the dark. He wanted nothing more than to go into that bathroom and comfort his little brother. But he didn't know how. Sam was hurt. More hurt, emotionally, than Dean had ever seen him before. And Dean's usual rub on the back and comforting jokes just weren't going to help this time. He just didn't know what to do.

He rolled over as the noises coming from the bathroom stopped, unwilling to let Sam see him awake. Unwilling to let Sam think he hadn't cared.

He feigned sleep as the bathroom door opened and Sam came stumbling back in, audibly wheezing. But Dean kept his breathing steady, kept his eyes closed. And Sam lay back down in his bed and said nothing.

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A little angst to get us all started…. And on to chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2: Fight

**Warning:** Ummmmmmm, swearing and more angst. It'll be over soon (the angst). Well, not over, but it will be in a sort of intermission.

**Author's Note:** Just had to say, in my set of Supernatural stories, Dead Man's Blood, Salvation, and Devil's Trap **did not** happen. John went off and got the Colt by himself, killing both Meg and the still (according to me) unnamed demon boy. Then he raced to Cromwell, where signs were popping up, only to find his son possessed by the demon, and ending up well and truly dead. Oh, and I will try and post each night, at least one chapter, but my net is being evils at the moment, so... yeah. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Fight**

Dean woke with the sun shining in his face. He grimaced as he squinted, putting a hand in the way of the beam of light coming in through the partially closed curtains. What time was it?

He rolled over, his bleary vision just making out the bright yellow numbers on the alarm. 08:36.

He groaned, and rolled onto his back. He still needed more sleep. His skin felt stretched. But he had a lot to do today. He had to go back to _that_ farm, gather his father's things. And he had to do it alone, because there was no way in hell he was letting Sam…

Suddenly realizing the room was missing something, he looked over at his brother's bed. His brother's empty bed.

Cursing that he hadn't noticed it the instant he woke up, he threw the covers off and got up, stumbling in his haste to find clothes. He put his jeans on and suddenly felt the weight of his phone on his pocket. Cursing once more, this time at the fact that he hadn't thought of calling before, he pulled it out and began dialling Sam's number.

He hadn't even started though, when it suddenly rang in his hand. He jumped, before flipping it open, hope spreading in his stomach.

"Sam!" he greeted, relief easy to hear on his voice.

"Dean?"

The strange voice made him frown, as he deflated like a popped balloon. It wasn't Sam. But then, the voice hadn't been expecting him either.

"Dean, are you back with your Dad?" the voice asked again, and it tugged strings in his head. And in his heart.

He almost dropped the phone, as if it burned, as he realized it was John's that he had answered.

"Who is this?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"It's Joshua," the voice answered, and Dean sighed silently in recognition. "Dean, is your Dad there? I need to speak with him."

Dean sat down on the bed, running a hand over his eyes. He wasn't ready for this. He needed time to put everything together himself, make sure it was real inside his own head, before he told anyone else about the great hunter's death.

"Dean?" Joshua's voice broke into his thoughts. The older hunter sounded worried.

"Yeah, ah… Dad's not here, Joshua," he said, the confession tearing at his heart. He didn't want to admit it.

"But you are with him, yeah? I mean, he'll get back soon, right?" Joshua asked. Dean closed his eyes, wishing the man on the other end wouldn't play dumb. Not that he would be doing it intentionally. Denial was a powerful tool.

"He's not coming back," Dean answered quickly, saying it fast, getting it out. "He's dead."

The bluntness struck Joshua into silence. And then, "Oh, God, what happened? Are you okay?"

Dean's eyes were still closed. "It… it was the demon. It found us, and it killed Dad."

"Oh, Dean, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I know how close you and your Dad were."

Dean smothered the anger before it could flare. He didn't want pity. "I'm fine. We're fine." Well, they would be once he found the other half of the they. He looked over at the alarm clock. Ten minutes since he had woken. Another ten minutes of not knowing where Sam was.

"Dean?"

Again, Joshua's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, sorry, Joshua, but I have to go. How come you're calling?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I mean, you and Sam have to get back on your feet -."

"Josh," Dean warned. "We're fine. Why were you calling Dad?"

"I told you, it's nothing. Just a few disappearances in Cromwell, in Alabama, but I've got someone else…"

He trailed off as Dean laughed, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't even have any idea what he was laughing at, besides the fact that hunts just seemed to catch up with them, which wasn't all that funny, when he thought about it.

"It's okay. Me and Sam are already in Cromwell, Joshua. We were here when we met up… We were already here. It's okay, we're looking into it."

"Are you sure?"

Dean sighed. "Absolutely. I'll see you later, Joshua."

A second later he hung up, only waiting to hear half of the older hunter's farewell, and snapped the phone shut, dropping it as if it were poisonous. His hands were shaking, and he was trying to stop it. He hadn't been ready for that. But at least he wouldn't have to call anyone else. Joshua would take care of it.

But he thought he would have to take a leaf out of his dad's book and let everything go to voicemail, so he wouldn't have to hear anyone else's pity.

He sighed, clenching his fists, and stood. He needed to find Sam. Who knew what the kid was doing.

He grabbed his jacket and opened the front door. Only to jump for the second time that day as he almost ran into his returning brother.

Sam didn't jump, but was in the motion of returning his hand to his pocket. Dean however, had to take a moment to let his heart relax.

"Jesus, warn a guy next time," Dean said when he could speak again. He moved back, letting Sam into the room. His un-grinning brother. He sighed where Sam couldn't see.

"So, where were you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He couldn't.

Sam shrugged. "Around," he answered.

Dean went cold.

_Where the hell have you been?… Sam shrugged… Around._ That had been the demon's excuse as well.

He stopped, staring at Sam, who had sat down on his bed, totally unaware of the affect his word had had on his older brother.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, smashing Dean's illusion. While his little brother was sitting on his bed, he was fully aware that something wasn't right with Dean.

"Fine," Dean answered, sitting down. "It's just, I was worried. I woke up, and you weren't there."

As soon as he said it, he realized how clingy he sounded. But he sat there, ignoring the blush, waiting for Sam to roll his eyes. The movement never came.

"Sorry, I just needed some fresh air," Sam said, keeping his head down. "I'll leave a note next time."

Dean nodded. He had to get off this topic. "So, ah, Joshua called while you were out. To talk about the disappearances here, of all things. Big coincidence, huh?"

Apparently Sam didn't really care. "Did you tell him? 'Bout Dad?"

Dean nodded, swallowing. "I did. He called Dad's phone, so… yeah. But, what you think? Ready to start looking into them?" He knew the answer to that was a 'fuck no' but they couldn't sit about and do nothing. They would both go mental.

Sam nodded. "Absolutely. I'll start right now." He got up, quick to action, and grabbed his laptop.

Dean nodded back. "I've got some things to do," he said, referring to the farm where their dad's stuff still lay untouched. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

He was almost out the door when Sam called out one last set of instructions, though it was so quiet, he almost didn't hear it.

"Grab his dog tags. We should bury them with Mum."

* * *

That night found Sam rubbing tiredly at his eyes as they gathered grit and clouds. He continued staring at the computer screen, even if he didn't really read the words. He just sat and stared, dazed into thoughtlessness.

But then he yawned, breaking the contact with the laptop. Dean stared across at him from where he was sorting through papers, but didn't say anything. For which Sam was grateful. Maybe Dean had finally given up on the whole heal with words crusade. Sam's problems couldn't be solved with words. Maybe with a bullet to the head, but he wouldn't leave Dean behind, whatever the circumstances. Even if it was his fault their father was dead.

He found himself yawning again, and turned it into a sigh of exasperation. He shut the screen.

"This is getting us no where," he spoke up. "I mean, these disappearances are random, no witnesses, nothing… I mean, how do we even know there's something supernatural behind it?"

Dean sighed, dropping the paper he had been reading. "I know. So what, you want to leave?" There was a hopeful tint to his voice: he wanted to leave to get Sam away from the memories. "Tell Joshua we couldn't find anything, that it's just some idiot showing humans can be just as nasty as demons?"

Sam seriously considered it for a moment. But then he shook his head. "No, we should stay. Make sure. After all, Joshua wouldn't call for no reason."

He frowned, swearing he caught a hint of… something. Something in his mind. One of those freaky things left over from the past few days? That tainted sense could be his imagination. Or was it something real? It would be, just when he wanted to leave this god-forsaken town.

"So, what do we know so far?" he asked to stop the thoughts. "What's the count?"

Dean sighed, and searched for a paper. "Thirteen disappearances so far."

"Any patterns?" Sam asked next, regretting that he was. Usually he was the one with the answers. Today though, he had seemed to be all but useless.

"Depends on what you mean. All thirteen are men, who disappeared on the east side of town – the seedy side. That's where the bars are, the dirtier ones. Ah, all men, but I mentioned that already. All aged between eighteen and thirty. All in good health when they were taken. All athletic, tall, strong. Not normally the kind of men who would be victimised. I mean, a lot of these men have police records for fighting. Most aren't the nicest men. Some amateur boxers. There was a cop, taken last night actually."

Sam frowned. "All men who can defend themselves. I guess that's one reason to rule out humans I guess."

Dean shrugged. "'Spose. It is weird. You should see the pictures for some of these guys – one guy was taller than you and twice as wide."

"Anything else weird?" Sam asked, turning back to the computer. "I mean, in the area?"

"Not sure if any of it's our business," the older hunter said, finding a photocopied article. "There was a breakout at the prison a week ago. Ten convicts disappeared, killing seven guards… Whoa."

Sam looked up. "Whoa, what?"

"Whoa, six of the guards are reported as being drained of blood, but lacking any wounds big enough to explain the massive blood loss."

The younger man didn't speak for a moment. "That is weird. So, you think something helped those men escape? But what? And what would drain someone at the same time?"

"Some kind of demon?" Dean suggested. "I'm not sure. I think we need more detailed reports." He looked at his watch. "Not that we'd be able to get them now. It's past twelve. And you look half-dead. You actually going to sleep tonight?"

Sam shut the computer. "I slept last night."

Dean nodded. "Sure you did." It was obvious his brother didn't believe him. "Look, Sam. I know you don't want to go to sleep, because you don't want to dream."

Sam snorted. "How the hell do you know what I want?" he snapped. "I want to sleep Dean, but… but…" He suddenly shuddered. "Just drop it okay."

He went to move to the bathroom, but Dean sprung from the bed and barred his way. His face was tight with anger and frustration.

"No, I'm not going to _drop it_, Sam. We're talking about this," he ordered. "You need to talk about this!"

"No, I don't!" Sam cried. "I don't need that, Dean. You know what I need? I need space. I need time to figure out everything in my head before I can even _try_ to explain it to someone who has no clue what's going on in my head. Now back off!"

Before he could stop himself, he had pushed Dean to the floor, hard enough for his older brother to wince as he landed on his wrists. Then, quivering, Sam spun on his heels and left the room.

Dean watched him leave, shocked. Now that wasn't the reaction he had expected.

Sighing, he stood, dusting imaginary dust off his clothes. Then he ran a hand through his hair.

He was almost tempted to go after Sam, to find him and drag him back so they could talk. But he knew Sam would be long gone by now. And he would be back. The better thing to do was wait until the younger man got back from his walk. He would be fine. He would be.

_I'll make sure if it,_ he thought to himself, determined. He didn't realize his thoughts had changed it from talking about Sam's walk to talking about Sam's problems. Sam would be fine. Dean would make sure of it. As soon as Sam got back, they were talking. Sam would talk if Dean had to cuff him to the damn bed to do so.

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No, the boys are not getting kinky. Yes, Sam is one screwed up Winchester at this point in time. Yes, something big and dramatic may happen. Thank you for reading. BYE!


	3. Chapter 3: Taken

**Disclaimer:** So not mine.

**Warning:** Meensy language, nothing I wouldn't say in front of my mum.

**Author's Note:** So, thanks to everyone who reviewed in chapters 1 and 2. you made my day, dudes and dudettes. And now for chapter 3, where the hunt will really begin. Enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Taken**

Sam had no clue where he was walking to. And he wasn't really sure what he was walking from. Sure, Dean was pushing again. But, he was pretty sure that wasn't what he was avoiding.

Something to do with Dean's eyes, he thought. His older brother thought he hid his emotions so deep, where no one could find them. He was wrong. Every time Sam looked into those green eyes, he could almost see what Dean was thinking.

And for the past two days, the utter lack of blame had been making him angry. Because he had killed their father. If not directly, than from inaction. From weakness. And weakness wasn't allowed in the Winchester family. It got people killed.

He sighed and stuck his hands into his pocket, kicking a rock that happened to be in the way. He didn't want to be in this town. He wanted to run as far as he could from it. The damn job though; it wasn't the Winchester way to leave a hunt unsolved.

_Not that I've been the best example of a Winchester recently,_ he thought dryly to himself, kicking the rock again.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know how to react. He felt lost. He had felt lost ever since he had surfaced from despair to find his mind overrun by the demon. The demon that was still out there, the demon who had made him suffer, had made him watch as it killed his father. The demon he was going to kill. His fist clenched as he thought about that sweet revenge. Oh, that son of a bitch was going down.

He stopped, suddenly feeling better. The determination within him was shoving away some of guilt, the frustration. It gave him purpose. Dangerous purpose, but he didn't think of it as such. All he knew was that suddenly the anger and thought of making that bastard suffer… that made him feel so much better.

He turned and walked down an alley. Halfway down, he stopped and leaned against the wall, revelling in the anger. Revelling in the sudden urge to wrap his hands around something and destroy it. With his bare hands.

He opened eyes he didn't remember closing. It was then that he felt it. That sense he had been noticing for the past day. The sense of something tainted, but so close to being human that it was hard to distinguish. And it was close.

He looked around and spied a lump on the ground he hadn't seen before. Frowning, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to it. As he neared, the lump suddenly turned into the shape of a person sprawled on the ground.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked, getting closer. The lump wasn't moving. He was pretty sure it wasn't breathing either. "Hey, man, you okay?"

There was no answer, no movement. Sam got close enough to reach out a hand to touch the figure. He laid his fingers gently on the man on the ground.

It rolled over at the slightest touch, and Sam knew he hadn't made it do so. He snatched his hand back, falling on his ass as open, unblinking eyes came to rest on him. And then the man smiled, showing his teeth.

His many, long, pointed teeth. Kind of like fangs.

"Jesus!" Sam cried, knowing instantly that this thing wasn't human. And that it was dangerous. With teeth like that, how could it not be? He jumped to his feet and began running for the mouth of the alley.

Too late. Two figures, holding machetes, stood there, both knives and fangs glinting in the light of the street behind them. Sam slid to a stop before turning nimbly. But he couldn't run that way either. The man who had been laying on the ground was up, and had been joined by another two…

"Vampires?" Sam whispered, unheard by the five beasts around him. He shook his head, crouching slightly into a defensive stance. It was impossible. His dad had never even talked about them. They were supposed to be pure myth.

Well, this pure myth had him surrounded. And it wasn't looking good. But he wasn't going down without a fight.

The men began to close in, and Sam moved slightly to keep his back to the wall. At his movement, more than one of the he-couldn't-believe-they-were-vampires smirked.

"What, you're going to take us all on?" One of them asked, disbelieving. "When three of us have knives?"

Sam shrugged. "Knives? Those freaking things are like swords."

Someone laughed. Another two shared a look. "Howl, you picked a good one," the laugher said. "Lot's of fight."

One shrugged, and Sam assumed that was Howl. He looked set to answer as well, but was cut off by the fifth.

"If you lot don't mind, I'd like to be back by sunrise. I've still got stiffness from being caught out when we got that copper."

Sam looked around him, confused. He put up a hand. "If you don't mind, can someone explain? Or I can just go, leave you lot to your bickering."

The one that had complained of sunrise raised an eyebrow. "You're about to get your ass kicked. I wouldn't be making smart comments."

"Let's get on with it then," he snarled, letting that determination from earlier fill him like lava racing through his veins.

One shrugged, before racing in. Sam sidestepped, ducking beneath a fist before driving his own into the ribs of the one attacking him. By the time he had stood up though, another two had joined the attack. One let his machete swing, and Sam ducked beneath it, kicking out at the one who had attacked first as he rose. It connected with the vampire's head, and Sam watched it fall over from the corner of his eye. He punched, attacking the unarmed one. It stepped back to avoid a smashed face.

He turned his attention to the vampire with the machete. Somewhere he was wondering what the hell was happening to the world when things even he didn't believe in were attacking him. But it was somewhere deep, because at that moment he had to concentrate on the machete swinging fast at his head.

He stepped in, tired of defending. He blocked the arm, grabbing it and yanking upwards, using his height to dislocate the shoulder. It dropped the machete, yelping in pain. He was glad to see that it did feel pain. He wasn't really sure what was true about these bastards, and what wasn't.

He dropped to scoop up the fallen machete, and stood, leaning back straight away and bringing the blade up to block the blade of another vampire. With two seemingly down, the other two had joined in, leaving three. Two with machetes.

He blocked another swing at his head before stepping in towards the attacker, changing the upwards block into a downwards strike. He winced as he felt the resistance of blade slicing flesh.

The vampires around him snarled as the third fell, and they leaped on him with a new fury, slashing and punching. Sam blocked as much as he could, but could feel the attack becoming overwhelming. And then he cried out as blade met his arm, only lightly, but easily enough to draw blood. He dropped his machete and then let the world explode in light as something hit him on the back of the head.

* * *

Dean woke with a start, realizing he had fallen asleep. He sat up, wincing at his stiffness. He had fallen asleep in a chair by the table, and now his back ached from leaning over. And his arm was numb from resting his head on it.

Yawning, he checked the alarm by his bed. Not long before sunrise. He yawned again, and let his eyes rove the room.

He frowned when he realized Sam wasn't back yet. When had his brother left? About twelve-thirty. Sam had been 'walking' for nearly five hours. That was a long time, even by Sam's standards.

He wasn't going to panic. He was going to shower. And when he got out, if Sam hadn't come back yet, he was going to call Sam and tell the kid to get his ass home. Then he was going to kick him into submission and make his little brother spill the beans.

He made sure the shower was nice and long, telling himself that he would not panic, and taking his time to prove to himself that he could.

Sam still wasn't back. The kid wanted space, but this was taking it too far. Dean frowned as he grabbed his phone and started dialling Sam's number.

It rang. And rang. And rang. And then,

"Hello?"

Dean's frown deepened. That was definitely not Sam's voice. "Who the hell is this?"

"My name's James Holden. I'm an officer with the Cromwell police department. Who is this?"

Dean ignored his question. He wanted to ignore everything, just for a moment, so he could get his heart going again. "Why the hell do you have my brother's phone?"

He heard the cop sigh. "Ah, sir, I think you should come down to the police station."

"Why?" Dean demanded. "What's going on?" He hated being out of the loop.

"Sir, we'll explain everything when -." Dean cut him off.

"No," he snapped. "What's going on? Why do you have Sam's phone? Where is he?"

Again, a sigh. "Sir, we found your brother's phone, in an alley off East Street. It looks like he's been kidnapped."

* * *

Oooooo, not looking so good for Sammy. What's going to happen to him? Find out (hopefully) tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4: Waking to the Unknown

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Crappy humour? Well, I think it's crappy. But hey, there's no swearing… I think…

**Author's Note:** Sorry there was no post last night, but life called. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks to EVERYONE who has reviewed so far. You make my day!

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Chapter 4: Waking to the Unknown

Sam woke slowly to a pounding head and hushed voices. He couldn't open his eyes; they felt too heavy at that particular moment. But he could hear. As he moved further from unconsciousness, he could make out what those voices were saying.

"That head wound looks nasty."

"Is he okay?"

"Does he look okay, Johnson?"

"They wouldn't have hurt him too badly, they'll want him to fight."

This last one made him want to laugh. Too badly? His pounding head suggested… actually it suggested the man was right. He was right, it wasn't too bad. And while his arm stung as well, where the machete had cut it, he was mostly alive and well.

"He's been out for a while. Is he dead?"

Someone close by answered. "He's not dead. Do you think he'd be in here if he was dead? Besides, he's got a pulse."

"You sure?"

This time Sam answered. "Yes, he's sure," he answered, opening his eyes. They met bars, and beyond that, what looked like a disused barn. On the other side were cages, filled with occupants. Hard, nasty-looking occupants. In the rough centre was a raised cage, bigger than any on the sides.

He sat up, wincing and putting a hand to his head. He looked around, and found three sets of eyes staring at him. He looked over them, and found yet more bars. He realized they were in cages similar to those over the other side.

"Where are we?" he asked the guy who had defended his pulse. He was in the same cell as Sam, leaning against the back wall.

The man shrugged. "No idea. I was in a van the whole way. No windows. And they blindfolded me from the van into here."

"So no one has any idea?" he asked, looking around. There were no windows in here either, but it had to be a barn. Or used to be a barn. Now, it was different. Changed for a reason he didn't feel well enough to figure out.

The man was shaking his head. "No idea. We're only an hour or so out of Cromwell though. I'm guessing out on one of the farms."

Sam nodded, standing and shaking his head against vertigo. He could feel blood caked on the back of his head, but it was only a little bit. Nothing life threatening. He didn't even have a concussion, which was definitely good news.

"How long was I out?" he asked, moving around the cage, looking for any weakness.

The guy shrugged – the other two had moved into their own corners of their cage, losing interest at seeing he was okay. Now that he was standing, Sam could see there were six cells on this side, converted into cages from old stalls. There were just as many on the other side, but they each had one man in them. Sam gave them a quick glance as he ran his hands over the bars, testing it now and then for weakness.

"They brought you in about three hours ago, I'm guessing. There's no way out of here, but the door. And that's only when they open it and drag you out."

Sam gave him a look. "No harm in looking. I know a few things."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly sure you want out of here anyway. They'll catch you easy."

"I'll be fine," Sam answered absently.

The guy smirked. "Not against these things, you won't be."

"Trust me," Sam countered, moving onto the back wall. It looked like simple wood, but he could tell it had been reinforced by bricks on the other side. "I've faced worse than vampires."

The guy's jaw dropped, and he got to his feet. "You _know_ they're vampires? You've faced _worse_? Who the hell are you?"

The hunter grinned. "Sam Connors," he answered, thinking back on the alias he and Dean were using for Cromwell.

The guy held out his hand for Sam to shake. "Blake McMillan," he introduced.

Sam dropped the guy's hand and looked around, sighing with frustration. Blake was right, there was no way out.

"So, how long have you been here?" Sam asked, taking a seat. He was only paying half attention to his cellmate. He needed to get out of here. Four, five hours away meant Dean would be getting worried. And that made Sam worried. After the past week, who knew what Dean could believe of him.

"Only the one day," was the answer. "But people will be getting worried."

Sam gave a short laugh. "I know exactly what you mean." Then he remembered. "You're the cop who disappeared, right?"

Blake nodded suspiciously. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Sam shrugged. "It's my job," he answered covertly. He looked around, avoiding the man's curious gaze. "Do you know what they want?"

"What they want?" Blake repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you know why they took us. There has to be a reason, there always is, even for things like vampires."

"Things like vampires?"

Sam scowled at the man's repetition. "Yes, like vampires. Look, it's a long story. But do you know why they took us?"

Blake shrugged. "I've only been here the one night. But others are saying that these… things, these vampires, they make us fight."

"Make us fight?" Sam asked, taking his turn to repeat. "What do you mean?"

Blake shrugged. "Word is, they make us fight. Fight them, and fight _them_."

Sam looked across to where Blake had nodded at the men in the cages on the other side of the barn. "Who are they?"

Blake scowled. "Convicts."

Realization dawned on Sam. "The escaped convicts, from the prison. No wonder those men were drained. The vampires got them out."

Blake nodded, once again suspicious. "Yeah, that's them. I couldn't believe it when I recognised a couple of them. Anyway, we fight them."

Sam snorted. "Fight? I doubt it. More like we get slaughtered by them." Although he had seemed to manage just fine against five of them. Then again, he doubted they had expected someone with hunter abilities. Next time they would know what to expect, they wouldn't be surprised.

Blake shrugged. "Don't know. I know it's only one-on-one. But word is we don't get weapons. And I've heard that no one has ever defeated a vampire."

One-on-one? Well, that opened new possibilities. Sam was pretty sure he could defeat one, by himself.

A bang interrupted their conversation, but Sam had already stood, sensing that taint, almost like it was on the air, like he was smelling it, the moment before the noise ruined the quiet. At least now he knew he wasn't going crazy or spiralling into the darkness the demon had warned of. That taint had been the vampires the whole time.

Blake soon followed him to a stand, and they made their way to the front of the cage. Sam made it there in time to see three figures come up from a hole in the ground. A trap door. It had to be daytime. What had that vampire said? He was still stiff from getting caught in the daylight the last time. So obviously it didn't kill them. He wondered what else was true and what wasn't.

The last figure through closed the trap door behind him, and then pointed in Sam's direction. He recognised the vampire as one of the ones who had grabbed him. But he had no idea who the other two were.

He and Blake shared a look. The cop had no idea what was going on either. But the three were walking over towards them.

Blake took a step back as the vampires approached, but Sam couldn't blame him. The lead vampire was smirking, and it made him look nasty. Still, he kept his ground, and waited for them to come to him.

The leader was male, and his other companion was female. They were pale-faced, her's accentuated by bright make-up. She had blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. The leader carried himself with an air of arrogance and confidence that was completely visible in his grey eyes.

"So, this is him, then?" the leader asked, stopping two feet from the front of the cage. Sam could have reached out and touched him if he had felt like it.

"This is the one," the second male said with a sneer. "He put up a good fight. Best so far. Howl's nursing a very sore head at the moment."

Sam grinned crookedly as the leader turned his full attention onto him. But the vampire was frowning.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Most of us are shocked that you fought back at all. Do you even realize what we are?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know what you are."

The leader cocked an eyebrow. "What are we, then?"

Sam grinned. "Idiots."

The vampire who had taken Sam growled, stepping in and hitting a baton against the bars. Sam barely even blinked, though he couldn't help but take a good look at the bared, pointy teeth.

"So, you know what we are," the leader said. "Who are you, though?"

Sam stood up straighter. "Ivana."

"Ivana?" the leader asked with a suspicious glare.

Sam nodded, keeping his face perfectly straight. "Ivana Suckyablood."

There was a bare moment of silence. Blake got it first, letting everyone know something was wrong when he couldn't cover a burst of laughter properly. The female's eyes widened next, and she gaped. The male's grip on his baton tightened, and the leader growled. The male began stalking towards the door in the cell.

"Zane!" the leader barked, making the male stop. "Let it be. He'll get what he deserves soon enough."

The male, Zane, looked between Sam and his leader. "Why not now?" he asked defiantly.

"Because, then taking him was a waste of time. We can earn a lot of money from him."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Money? So you bet on your little fights. Who's dumb enough to bet on a human against you lot?"

This time Zane laughed. "We don't bet on that. We bet on how long someone's going to last before they're chow," he said as he replaced himself next to his leader.

Sam nodded. "Now that makes more sense."

The leader gave him a curious look. "We tell you you're doomed, and you want to make sense of it? Who are you?" he asked again.

Again, Sam kept a straight face. "Dray Cula," he answered. Anger clouded the leader's face.

"Please, Marco, let me at him," Zane begged. Sam gave the vampire a grin, and the leader, Marco, held up a hand.

"Who are you?" Marco asked again, slowly, dangerously.

This time Sam let a grin go. "Van Helsing?" he offered.

Finally the leader snarled. "Fine!" he snapped. "Zane, he's on tonight. Last. Make it happen. Maria, let's go."

The two left, leaving Zane alone with the captive humans. Sam didn't move, but stared confidently at the vampire. Even as the vampire stepped closer to him, until only the bars separated them.

"You're going to pay," Zane whispered furiously. Sam leant closer, grinning infuriatingly.

"Bring it on," he whispered back.

Zane gave a growl and turned, leaving via the trap door. He left a silent barn. Sam blushed as he realized everyone had been listening in as he spoke with the vampires.

As he turned, Blake whistled. "I can't decide whether that was brave or stupid," he told Sam as the hunter sat back down. "Why didn't you just tell them?"

Sam rubbed his face with his hand. "I have no idea," he answered truthfully. But the adrenaline was dying down, giving way to let the guilt pile back in. And that felt terrible.

* * *

So, I tried to make it a little funny, but I think I just made it a little crappy. Oh well. Please stick in there, it will get better, I swear.

Ummmmmm… oh yeah. Bye!


	5. Chapter 5: Clues

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!

**Warning:** Not much to warn about. Few swear words, nothing serious.

**Author's Note:** So, thanks for everyone's reviews! They're great as, man! Um, yeah, the story's been a bit slow so far, but action is coming up! Anywho, hope you enjoy this next chapter.

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Chapter 5: Clues

The room where the cops had left Dean was tiny, with one small window and desperately needing a clean. It was one of the interview rooms, and even when he knew he didn't really have anything to hide, it made Dean feel on edge. Of course, that anxious feeling might have had something to do with the not-so-little fact that his baby brother was missing.

They still hadn't told him anything, and it was making him angry, a dangerous emotion to add to the cocktail running through him. He had arrived half an hour ago, but no police officer had been free to do much besides sit him down in the room he was in now, and give him a plastic cup of coffee that tasted like shit.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He needed to know what was happening. He needed to know if Sam's disappearance was tied in with the other disappearances. He needed at least some clue as to what condition Sam might possibly be in. He needed something. Anything.

As if answering his thoughts, the door opened, and a man entered. Dean sat up straighter, sighing.

"Finally," he snapped. "I've been waiting here for half a freaking hour, having been told my little brother's been taken. I still don't know by what, or when, or even where, because no one has come to see me!"

The cop sat down, and Dean took in the haggard expression with a little surprise. "Mr Connors, I'm Officer Holden. We spoke on the phone. I'm sorry you had to wait, but we've been very busy." The man sighed, opening his folder. "If disappearances weren't enough, we've had a murder, an attempted murder by an apparently known murderer with a like for fire, and a fake FBI agent on the loose, all in the past couple of days."

Dean withheld a wince. That was the Winchester family for you. The cop, James Holden if Dean remembered correctly, did wince however.

"Sorry, I just let that slip. But it's been a long couple of days."

"Did you say disappearances?" Dean asked, accentuating the plural. The cop nodded. "And Sam's a part of this?"

Again, the cop nodded. "We think so. We just need to get a few facts straight first. How old is your brother?"

Dean sat back, pretending ignorance on the disappearances in the town. "He's twenty-three."

"Can you describe him, or do you have a picture we can use?"

Dean nodded, reaching for his wallet. "Yeah, I got a picture. Hang on…" He paused while searching for the right one. "Here you go."

Officer Holden took the photo, and glanced at it. He began writing notes in his folder. "Was your brother an athletic man, Mr Connors?"

"Call me Dean. And yeah, he was." Dean waited a moment. "So, what's the deal with all these disappearances then?"

Holden smiled. "I can't really tell you, Mr Connors," the cop answered, ignoring Dean's request.

Dean just stopped his eyes from rolling. "Why not? Maybe I can help."

"Are you a police officer, Mr Connors?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shook his head, beginning to get the feeling that he didn't like this man. "No," he answered truthfully, remembering his previous efforts at pretending to be one. It didn't usually work out so well. "But I still might be able to help."

"You're a civilian," Holden answered as if that was explanation enough. "Now, what was your brother doing out and about anyway?"

Dean shrugged. "He was walking. He likes walking. Last time I checked it wasn't a crime."

"And that was it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped, letting his growing dislike for the man get to his temper.

"Nothing, Mr Connors. Is there anyone in this town who might have something against your brother, someone with a reason to kidnap him?"

Dean thought, thinking back to the past few days. Family of that girl the demon had killed? That woman who the demon had nearly killed, the one Sam had saved? Who knew what else the demon had done while wearing Sam's face.

"No, no one," Dean answered. "We've only been here a few days, stopping during a road trip. And we haven't really gone out. We've been sleeping mostly." Ha, if only.

Officer Holden stared at him for a moment, before snapping the folder shut. "Thank you, Mr Connors. You're free to go."

Dean stood with the man, but didn't move to leave. "Please, you've got to give me more. I mean, evidence at the crime scene, patterns with the previous disappearances… I need something, Officer."

Dean hated that he almost sounded like he was begging. Especially from this man. He really didn't like the policeman. But he needed to know things if he was going to get Sam back.

The officer sighed. "Look, okay. I can tell you a few things about your brother. But that's it."

He motioned to sit down, and Dean did. Holden slid back into the opposite seat. "We think he was taken about one-thirty last night. We estimate there were four or five of them. We found three different types of blood, but we don't know who it belongs to. Your brother fought back, Mr Connors. And as far as we can tell, he's the first. Or at least, the first to do any damage."

Dean felt pride swell within. _Go, Sammy,_ he cheered silently. "What else?" he asked out loud. "You must have some leads."

Holden sighed. "No, none. And don't think we haven't tried. But we have no clue. Besides physical things, none of the men had anything in common. Most are from this town, a few aren't. Different jobs, different backgrounds… they don't have one single common point to indicate who took them."

Dean thought or a moment. "And where was Sam taken?" he asked.

"An alley off East Street," Holden answered. "Most of them have been taken around East Street. And, to be perfectly honest, so far none of them have been found. But we're still looking, Mr Connors."

The cop stood and left, taking his folder with him. Dean followed more slowly. Well, he had some things to do. First, see the crime scene. And then… well, it depended on what he found there. He looked in the direction that cop had gone. _Local law enforcement_, he thought with disdain as he paused in the door of the room.

Shaking his head, he left, closing the door behind him. He had all day to kill as well, which was no help. He couldn't go to the scene, and study it, until nightfall. Sighing, he walked to the library, determined to find out if the town had any history of disappearances.

* * *

The day seemed to go by at a crawl. Dean spent a few hours at the library, feeling useless and more lost than he cared to admit. Of all the times for Sam to be taken, it had to be when his kid brother wasn't exactly Mister Perfectly Right In The Head.

But just because the day was slow, didn't mean it was fruitless. Bored by the town's boring history, he expanded the search… and found a few more examples of similar deals. Well, more than a few. Ten, in fact. Ten different towns, in Alabama and the surrounding states, with unsolved disappearances, over the past year. In each case it was all men who were taken, men like Sam, aged between eighteen and thirty, athletic, healthy. What he found out though, made him more than a little anxious.

In each case, the disappearances remained unsolved, and eventually died down until they stopped altogether. Which was annoying, to say the least. What made him anxious though, was the fact that in each case, the bodies weren't found until someone stumbled across them, in factories, homes, warehouses. And in each case, the bodies had been bodies for a long time. Most had been estimated as having been killed a week after disappearing, at the most. And no one could explain what the men had been subjected to.

Well, he decided as he left the library to find lunch, Sam wasn't going to be with them long enough to end up a body.

He ate at a small diner, and used the time waiting to give Joshua a call to see what he knew. He had put it off until then, because he knew he would get the pity. And he really didn't want it. He'd already ignored five or six calls from hunters John had known in his life.

It ended up being useless however. Joshua knew nothing about what was happening, and was full of pity for the younger hunter. It only served to make Dean angry, snapping his phone shut and cursing, before realizing that nearly all of the diner's patrons were staring at him.

He sighed and left, feeling useless. He hated that feeling. Of having no clue what was going on or what he had to do. He needed purpose. And he was only just beginning to realize how much he had actually relied on his family for that.

* * *

Sam stood by the front of his cage, staring as vampires appeared from the trap door in the middle of the barn. He couldn't believe there were so many. He could hardly believe they existed at all. His dad had never even mentioned them before. He thought that to himself with a swallow.

As he watched, they began to set the place up. They brought out long, low benches, placing them around the big, raised cage in the centre of the barn. Sam had learnt from Blake, who had learnt from others, that this was where the fighting took place. It looked pretty small, too small to fight easily in.

He started chewing his lip, not realizing what he was doing. More and more vampires were piling in now. The set up was finished, the place was beginning to buzz. He noticed a few of the humans becoming anxious, pacing their cages, looking pale.

Blake came to stand next to him. "It's starting soon," the older man whispered. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, it's getting intense." Though for some reason not as powerful as before, his shining was pulling everyone's anxieties and excitement to him. He could feel the adrenaline starting to rush and welcomed it. Anything was better than the constant guilt.

A new door opened, letting a breeze into the room. Sam only had time to spy another house blocking any view before the door shut behind the vampire leader Marco and the female, Maria. Sam looked around for the vampire, Zane, and was a little disappointed when he didn't see him anywhere.

But there were plenty of others. Sam refused to believe they were all from Cromwell. There would have been more news about it if there had. More bloodless bodies showing up everywhere. Which meant these bloodsuckers had travelled. He found himself frowning. Why hadn't anything like this shown up in any research? Why hadn't someone become suspicious? These vamps had arrived here somehow, and Sam had a feeling they hadn't turned into bats and flown.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Blake spoke up from beside him. "All these in one place, and no one's ever noticed."

Sam was a little surprised the cop was thinking the same thing, but he nodded. "Yeah, it's odd. You think someone would have mentioned something, or seen something."

Their conversation was shut off at that moment as a vampire climbed into the cage in the centre, the ring, which was actually a square. Sam recognised him as Zane and strained to listen above the noisy crowd.

The vampire was grinning, and turned in a circle to look at his congregated kin. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening's entertainment," he cried out. Everyone quieted down quickly, and Zane went through the pleasantries, surprising Sam when he thanked Marco for holding the event. The leader and his mate were sitting in proper chairs, instead of on benches, in a cleared space near the cage.

"They're like dignitaries," Sam thought out loud, breaking his concentration on Zane's words. Blake didn't answer and Sam brought his attention back to the speaker, who was getting down to the business of the night.

"Bring out the first contestants!" Zane shouted to an uproar. At the end of each row of cages, two vampires opened a door each and began to drag out the inhabitant. Sam noticed with discomfort how the convict didn't fight back, but allowed the vampire to guide him. They weren't really prisoners. Or they were, but they didn't care. At least here they got to do what they liked to do: Blake had told him each convict was one of the nastiest in the state.

The other man, however, fought as hard as he could. It didn't matter; the vampire all but dragged him into the cage, throwing him to the floor. The man stood slowly, shaking, even though he easily stood at the same height as the convict five feet from him. The difference was, the convict looked like he was going to enjoy this.

Sam barely heard as a few different vampires began to take bets. He couldn't help but concentrate on the overwhelming feelings surrounding him. He could feel the man's terror, the convict's sick apprehension, the excitement, the anxiety, all building up inside his head. He groaned, closing his eyes and ignoring Blake's worry. He had to shut it off.

He put a hand to his head, shaking it as if that was going to loosen the emotional grip on his mind. It was nauseating, a horrible feeling of conflicting… well, feelings. He had to… shut it… off!

The feeling in his head cleared, and he looked up shocked. Blake was looking at him with concern, but Sam didn't care about that. Because at the same time as he got some control over his freaky head, a bell rang once, short and sweet.

And the fight was on.

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Okay, so a little boring. Interlude, really. To keep you interested, here's a second chapter for tonight!


	6. Chapter 6: Getting Help

**Warning:** Same as the other chapters.

**Author's Note:** Yes, it gets better. Just hang in there!

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Chapter 6: Getting Help

That night, sometime after nine, Dean left the motel room, armed and ready. He drove over to the other side of town, a little shocked that Sam had walked so far the night before.

He found the alley off East Street easily. It was the one cut off with bright yellow police tape, not conspicuous at all.

Dean parked a block up from the alley and locked the doors. The streets were surprisingly empty, but Dean knew from eavesdropping that day that most people were too worried to be out after dark. Too worried of going missing.

The hunter had no such qualms. He had complete confidence in his abilities. He had a shotgun filled with rock salt, a handgun filled with silver bullets, holy water and the EMF.

Of course, he ignored that nagging voice in his head telling him that he had complete confidence in Sam's hunting abilities, and yet the youngest Winchester had still been taken.

He backtracked to the alley, careful to watch all around him for any lurking strangers. He almost wished he would find someone, just to make the hunt easy. But no such luck; he ducked under the yellow tape, almost overwhelmed by the silence of the world around him.

He got out his flashlight and the EMF, sweeping with both at the same time. He did it once, quickly, and then again when the little lights on top refused to flash. Not a spirit then. He should have known though. No ozone smell. Not a demon either.

He pocketed the EMF and began to walk slowly over the scene, getting a little lost in the search for some clue. A few minutes later, having felt or seen nothing on the walls, he crouched by one of the easily visible bloodstains on the concrete. He only hoped it wasn't Sam's.

And then out of the corner of his eye, the flashlight swept over something white against the darker ground. Intrigued, Dean leant over and grabbed it, his fingers slipping slightly on the object.

He studied it closely, using the torch. He frowned slightly when he realized it looked much like a fang. It was one of the oddest looking fangs he had ever seen. He bent to study it closer, concentrating hard on the tooth. What in the world did it belong to?

Cracking glass was all the warning he had. Heart pumping instantly, Dean stood and turned, bringing up the shotgun just in time to block a machete swinging at his head.

His arm jarred at the impact, and he looked up at the man attacking with something very near shock. Jesus, the guy was strong. And apparently he didn't feel anything, shown by his next swing at Dean's body.

Dean jumped back, avoiding the end by mere inches. Then, using the guy's lack of balance, he rushed in, jabbing with the butt of the shotgun. The man fell back, arms swinging wildly, and he dropped the machete as he landed.

The hunter grabbed his shotgun in the right position and pointed it at the man on the ground. Okay, so it only had rock salt in it, but his attacker didn't know that.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded angrily, sure the man on the ground had something to do with Sam's disappearance.

However the man seemed incredibly unfazed about having a shotgun aimed in his face. Instead of cowering for his life in the manner Dean had hoped, the man grinned wildly and didn't answer.

Though to be honest, he never really had much chance to do so. Again, all Dean heard was a single footstep.

Keeping his hearing trained on the man on the ground, Dean twisted his head, groaning as he found himself face-to-face with a handgun, possibly loaded with very real and very fatal bullets. What was even worse was the fact that the man behind the gun was very familiar.

Dean turned his eyes back to the man on the ground. "Oh, perfect timing Holden," he snapped sarcastically. "Freaking cops, always show up exactly when you don't need 'em, hey buddy," he added conversationally to his attacker turned captive.

"Put the gun down, Connors," Holden barked. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm not letting this bastard get away, Holden," he answered, never letting his grip go on his gun.

"Yes you are. Put it down, now, before I take the pleasure of blowing a bullet in your leg."

Dean turned his head to stare indignantly at the cop. "Me? What the hell did I do? This loser's the one with answers to where all those people are!"

He shouldn't have let his eyes fall from the man. Using Dean's momentary lack of concentration, the man jumped to his feet, using his momentum to shove the hunter aside. Dean landed with a grunt on the wall, bouncing slightly, before spinning to aim at the fast retreating man.

One, two shots filled the air, and Dean stared at Holden, who had pulled his trigger. As he watched at least one bullet hit its mark, but that didn't seem to do anything: the man, or creature, kept on running, round the corner where it disappeared.

Holding his shoulder, Dean groaned. He hadn't even got off his own shots. Well, he supposed that was a good thing. It was going to be hard enough to explain the gun without the rock salt hanging in the air as well.

He moved to pick up his duffel bag, fully intent on ignoring the cop. Holden made it a bit difficult however as he returned the barrel of the gun to where Dean was standing.

The hunter stopped with a sigh, but it was more frustrated than anything. He just wanted to get back to the motel room, to find out what kind of creature the fang belonged to. Of course, with the cop's help, he hadn't been able to get the information he needed from the creature who had attacked him, so now he was pretty sure everything relied on the fang still in his hand.

"Don't move, Connors," Holden warned.

Dean frowned. "What? You can't be serious. What the hell did I do?"

"You're in a crime scene, you were fighting, and you're carrying around a shot gun. I want answers."

Dean rolled his eyes, and the cop made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. Dean ignored it. "Look, I'm just trying to find my brother," Dean explained. "Seeing as you lot aren't really doing much."

The cop began glaring. "We're trying, Connors."

"Yeah, well, that's working out shit, isn't it," Dean snapped back. He was angry. Angry at the man for attacking him, angry at Holden for interrupting, angry at Sam for disappearing. All he wanted to do was leave this town and it seemed to be doing everything in its power to make him stay. "How many people have disappeared now? Fourteen isn't it? And you have no freaking clue!"

To his surprise, Holden cocked the gun. "What do you know about these disappearances?" the man asked silkily.

Dean groaned with exasperation, trying not to appear daunted by the gun pointing at him. "Me? I know what you know. You just let the one with answers get away!"

"How do you know he had answers?"

"Because he attacked me," Dean explained. "Now, put the gun down."

To his surprise, the man did. Holden stood up straighter and let his arm drop to his side. He didn't put the gun away though. "You said you could help. How?"

Dean's jaw dropped. "Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked, stunned.

"You're right," Holden admitted. "We're getting nowhere. We need all the help we can get. So, I want you to help me."

He was lying, or not saying everything, but Dean found he didn't care about that for the moment. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," the hunter said, putting his hands up. "Back up. I said I wanted to help, but not with a particular person. Besides, I don't even like you."

Probably not the smartest thing to say to someone with a loaded gun, but the guy just grinned. "That's fine. I don't really like you either. But if you're helping, we do it together. I'm not sitting by on this. I think you can maybe solve these disappearances, get those people back and. I have to be apart of it."

"You have no idea what _it_ is," Dean argued.

"Do you?" Holden argued back. Dean nodded.

"More than you'd believe," the hunter muttered. But he knew he wasn't getting away from this crime scene without a compromise. He sighed. "Look, fine. We work together. I have no idea why you want to, but fine. Come by my motel room tomorrow, and we go from there."

He started to walk off but Holden didn't appear finished. "Whoa, who died and made you in charge?"

Dean turned to face him. "You're kidding right? Look, I have experience at this, I know more about it, and I'm not working with you any other way. Besides, it wasn't really an order. More like a suggestion that you really should try and follow."

He left then, leaving Holden opening and closing his jaw angrily. He grabbed his duffel bag and ducked back under the tape. He was nearly to the Impala when he heard Holden call out.

"See you tomorrow then, Connors."

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I know, no Sammy. Don't worry, next chapter, he's back! For now, bye! And thanks heaps for reading!


	7. Chapter 7: Blank

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Swearing, and violence.

**Author's Note:** How freaking good does Croatoan and Hunted look? (I'm talking to Australians here, the rest should already know what happened in each of those eps) And Crossroad Blues was a blast! Ok, back to Sammy.

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Chapter 7: Blank

The fight was on.

And it was over pretty much straight away. The man managed to throw three punches before the convict laughed and began to have some fun. The vampiric crowd cheered as the man was pummelled. Sam felt Blake look away in disgust as blood began to fly, and the man screamed. The hunter felt sick as well, and he could feel himself shaking. Not with nausea, and not in fear, never, but in fury. These bastards had taken them off the street to be murdered. To have the shit kicked out of them. And then some.

The _fight_ lasted all of two minutes. There were a few boos from the crowd, vampires who didn't think it had lasted long enough. But two vampires stepped forward, grinning wildly, and took the beaten man as he was dragged from the cage. As Sam watched them, the two vampires dragged the semi-conscious man to the side and began to feed. It was then that he turned away in disgust.

Zane got back into the ring, and the crowd quietened down once more. The vampire was grinning.

"Next up we have a real treat," he yelled needlessly. The convict walked back to his cage and another was brought forward. One much bigger, and who looked more than slightly psychotic. The man cracked his knuckled and the sound seemed to echo around the barn. Sam heard Blake swallow noisily behind him. "This here folks, is Patrick Bailly. And let me introduce to you the man who put him behind bars."

Sam turned to look at Blake, who was pale and staring at Bailly. "That was you?" Sam asked, needing to be sure. Blake nodded.

"Five years ago, I was just starting out." The cop gave a weak laugh. "He always did say he'd find a way to get even. I never thought he'd see the light of day again to do anything."

Two vampires were heading their way to collect Blake for the fight. Sam made his decision quickly. He knew from talking with the cop that day that he had a wife and a baby daughter. And besides, he was a hunter, he was meant to be the one doing the fighting. In all, it was really no decision at all.

He pushed Blake back as the vampires opened the door, and stood in front of the man, arms up and ready. The crowd broke into a murmur.

"I'm fighting instead," Sam told the two vampires. They looked at each other.

"Sorry," one said. "Orders are orders."

They came in slowly, but Sam didn't move. "You're not taking him," the hunter told them decidedly. "You'll have to kill me first. And we wouldn't want that."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marco stand up, but he didn't let his concentration waver from the two in front of him. Until the vampire leader spoke up.

"You know it's suicide, right boy? You'll be killed, just as McMillan would," Marco said over the crowd. Sam turned to him.

"Then it won't matter who fights, will it," he told the crowd. Marco grinned ruthlessly.

"It's your funeral. Bring him out boys."

Sam shrugged out of their grips and marched over to the cage. He felt dozens of eyes on him as he passed through the crowd of vampires, but let none of his unease show. He strutted, seemingly full of confidence, and the convict, Bailly, raised an eyebrow.

Then he was in the cage and Zane was getting out. Bets were being placed, but Sam heard none of it. He just stared at Bailly, who stared at him. The hunter felt his adrenaline pumping with the beat of his steady heart.

The bell rang in time with one pulse of his blood.

Sam leapt to the side as Bailly ran at him, head lowered, arms out. The convict ran into the side of the cage and bellowed wordlessly. Sam felt his own eyebrow rise. The man got angry from that?

He dropped slightly as Bailly turned back to him, death written on his face. This time he didn't run in, but walked, and Sam, for one of the few times in his adult life, had to stare up to face the man. Bailly wasn't taller by much, just an inch or two, but he had to be twice as thick as the younger man. Sam had to admit, the convict had all the advantage.

As he analysed, Bailly came closer, flexing his muscles in a show of strength that really didn't bother Sam. He had fought demons and werewolves, skinwalkers and wendigos, spirits and shapeshifters. One convict shouldn't be that much of a problem.

Then Bailly started punching.

Sam blocked the first one, and decided he really shouldn't try blocking anymore when his arm shook at the strength behind the taller man's strikes. He stepped to the side to avoid more, before lifting his leg in a kick.

His foot never got there. To his shock, Bailly grabbed his leg and pushed, sending him sprawling backwards to knock his head against the bars of the cage.

He didn't even get a chance to shake the stars away from his head. Bailly came in, grabbing the bars and swinging his foot. Sam felt the air leave his lungs as the impact drove him off the ground.

As if in slow motion, Sam watched as another foot came flying at him. He knew another one would break his ribs, and then he wouldn't be able to fight at all. And he wasn't going to let these bloodsuckers have the satisfaction of sucking on him.

He felt the adrenaline pounding away inside, and the fury of it forced a snarl onto his face. No one saw it, and Sam barely felt it. What he did feel was the sudden strength clawing to be free.

His hand snapped out to grab Bailly's foot the second before it could collide with his ribs again. The foot stopped instantly, and Sam swung his hips to kick Bailly's other leg out from underneath him. The convict went down in a solid heap.

But the fight was far from done. Sam and Bailly stood at the same time, snarls reflected in each other's faces. Again, Bailly came in swinging, and Sam blocked once, twice, before he failed under the strength of the other man once more. His head snapped back as blood flew from his mouth.

He took two steps back, reeling from that third punch. He could feel blood dripping down his cheek, and he wiped it away with his hand. He could fee the anger building inside, the rage at being brought here just to die at the hands of some criminal. He wasn't letting that happen. He let the anger fuel him, fuel his adrenaline until he could barely handle it, until it was a dark fury spreading over his mind…

… He stopped his hand an inch from the face of the cowering convict. Stunned, he wondered what the hell had happened. What the hell was going on? His hand dropped, and he fell back, scared of something. He just wasn't sure what that something was. He couldn't admit that it was himself he was scared of.

He crawled backwards on his hands until he came to rest against the bars. The barn was silent with shock, each face turned to him. The only one he could focus on was Bailly where he lay moaning three feet from him.

What had he done? The convict was a bloody mess. Nose broken, ribs bruising already, arm dislocated. And that was only what he could see. But the last thing he remembered was Bailly's fist coming at him.

"What did I do?" he whispered to himself, only just realizing he was breathing hard, panting. "What the fuck did I do?"

The cage door opened and Zane walked cautiously in. He gave Sam an almost furious glance before directing two vampires to drag what was left of Bailly from the cage. Sam watched as the convict moaned, and he was given the sore consolation that at least the man wasn't dead.

The door closed again and Sam went to run a hand through his hair. He stopped short though when he saw his knuckles. His bloodied knuckles, covered with so much of Bailly.

He turned to the side and threw up, heaving as he rid himself of everything he had eaten in the past day. Which wasn't actually that much, but it was more his body rejecting the sight of someone else's blood caked on his hand then anything.

Once finished, he got unsteadily to his feet, using the bars to rise. He looked up and saw everyone looking at him, stunned beyond words.

The door opened again, and Sam spun, making Zane jump. Then the vampire looked angry that he had done so, and motioned to two vampires to grab him. He didn't fight, just let them lead him back to his cell.

He walked in and they locked the door behind him. Blake was standing there, pale still, and Sam ignored him as he went to sit in the corner, away from everyone. He brought his knees up to his chest, realizing he was shaking, and trying to stop it. His hands were the worst. They trembled terribly, and he laced them together to try and make them stop. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on his knees, hands over his neck.

He didn't look up as Blake came and sat next to him. The cop was silent for a moment, and Sam was glad of it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know anything. What the hell had happened?

"You're in shock. What happened?" Blake finally asked. Sam shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied, his voice muffled. "I… I blanked out."

"No, I know that," Blake said quietly. "I mean, what happened in the past couple of days, to make you traumatized?"

Sam sat up straight, staring at the cop. "Excuse me?"

Blake sighed. "Look, I'm a cop. I've seen enough tragedy to know when someone's traumatized. And you definitely are. That's why you blanked out. Adrenaline rush, shoves away the emotions. And leaves you to come down like you have a cold, like you're in shock. It's dangerous by the way. Let's in a darkness, the need for a thrill, like it's a comfort. It becomes an addiction."

Sam laughed at his words, remembering the demon's. "Darkness… That's all it was," he spat bitterly. It was looking like the demon was right. It had taken him over. "I almost killed that man."

Blake shook his head. "Sam, trust me, if that had been purely because of some darkness, you would have killed him. Hell, if there was darkness in you, you wouldn't have been fighting at all. I would have. No, it was because of something that's happened recently. Trust me," the cop repeated. "It helps to talk."

"I don't want to talk!" Sam retorted, suddenly angry. "Look, just leave it. God, you sound like my brother."

He stood and began pacing the cell. He looked around, a little shocked to see the barn was half empty already. Everyone was leaving. After a moment he stopped, wincing. He looked down and found his ribs bruising. And that wasn't the only injury. His cheek was swollen, where Bailly had punched him. There were a couple of other fist sized bruised popping up in places. He turned back to Blake, frustrated.

"So what actually happened?" he asked, referring to the fight.

Blake shrugged. "It lasted nearly five minutes. Bailly put you down, kicked you. Then you got back up, and he punched you. And then, I don't know… you changed. You must have blanked out. And however hard he punched you after that, you just kept on coming. It wasn't like you were superhuman or anything. You just kept on going. I mean, you were good, but he still hit you. But you wouldn't go down. You beat him good, Sam. And don't feel so bad," he added, seeing the guilty expression. "That bastard deserves everything. What you did to him tonight… he did that to five women and a fourteen-year-old girl."

Blake shook his head. "You should have seen the vampires, man. Apart from Zane and Marco, they were going off. The blood, it was sending them into a frenzy, almost. And then you just stopped. I swear if you'd hit him again, you would have killed him. Or put him into a coma, or something. But you stopped, and it shocked them all, because what they'd been expecting was gone."

Sam frowned with disgust. The sick bastards hadn't even been horrified by what he had done. They had just wanted him to finish the job.

He sighed and sat back down next to Blake. He hadn't made this any easier for himself. He knew that now the vampires would be even more desperate to find out who he was.

* * *

So, still liking it? It gets heaps better from here. Well, more action, less setting up. Sorry it's taken a while to get to this point. Anywho, thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8: Something New

**Disclaimer:** Not mine peeps.

**Warning:** Same as usual, dudes and dudettes.

**Author's Note:** Sorry there was no post last night, I was busy. And lazy, but don't count that. Um, enjoy this next chapter!

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Chapter 8: Something New

Dean studied the tooth under the light of the lamp he had moved from the bedside table, frowning over it as he turned it under the light.

It was one of the oddest fangs he had ever seen. In fact, he was pretty sure he had never seen the likes before. Which didn't bode well for the hunt, or for Sam if he allowed himself to be honest. It was something he had never heard of and you couldn't fight what you didn't know.

It was smallish, pointed. And all one colour. There were no shades to it, except at the end where there was a slight pinkish tinge. Dean had dropped the tooth when he had realized it was a bloodstain.

But apart from that one stain at the very tip, the tooth was a pearly white. Perfect in colour, if it had been human. Like it had never seen the light of day.

There was a knock at the door and Dean stifled a yawn before dropping the tooth on the keyboard and getting up from the table to answer it, wondering who the hell would be knocking at five am in the morning.

"Holden?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The cop raised an eyebrow as he walked in without being asked. "Remember we're working together to catch the bastards taking these people."

Dean groaned and shut the door. "I know, I remember. What I was asking though, is what are you doing here so goddamn early?"

"Sleeping were we Connors?"

Dean gave a short laugh and sat back down by the open laptop. Holden began walking around the room, annoying the hunter.

"Hardly," Dean answered with a snort. "I've been up all night researching. Don't you have work, or something. Else. That isn't here."

The cop came over and leant over Dean's shoulder, far too close for comfort. "I took the week off, called in sick. Researching what?"

"This wonderful place," the hunter answered with a hint of sarcasm. "Your disappearances. The men who disappeared."

"Why? We've done that already. And nada,"

Dean sighed. "Look, dude, if you want to help, help. Don't be all pessimistic on me. And back off already. I don't need some guy's breath misting up my ears."

Holden backed off with a growl and sat down on Sam's bed. "So, did it help you any more than it helped us? Any idea what we're looking for?"

Dean gave a laugh at Holden's choice of words. What. The man had no idea whatsoever about how true his 'what' was.

"Not yet," Dean admitted. "But, I figure you've been looking for the wrong things. At the wrong things."

He stood up and grabbed his coffee, not bothering about offering any to Holden. He sat down on his own bed, opposite his unwanted 'partner'. "I figure you've been looking for some pattern between the victims right. Besides the fact that they're all healthy, strong, young men. Some way to connect them all, and to connect that to whoever took them. Right?"

Holden nodded suspiciously. "How the hell do you know so much?"

"It's my job," Dean answered absently. "So what I figure, is, what if that is the pattern. I mean, what if that is why these men were taken, instead of something like some mutual acquaintance being the reason."

"But why?" Holden asked. "I mean, what's the logic in taking these men, out of all the people in Cromwell. Why… fighters?"

Dean shrugged. "No idea. Just a thought. Anyways, what I've been thinking is we start looking for where these people might have been taken, instead of by, ah, who."

Holden nodded uneasily. "Okay. So what's your theory on where?"

"No idea," the hunter repeated. "But it can only be a few places. You'd think close to Cromwell, able to hold a lot of people… probably run down, out of the way. Originally abandoned." He withheld a sigh. "I think I need your help on that department."

Holden grinned. "So you do need my help."

Dean glared at him. "No," he replied. "But it does make it easier. Don't make me regret it."

"Regret what?" the man asked with a raised eyebrow. "Me not shooting you."

"You wouldn't have," Dean told him. "Besides, it's not like I've never been shot before."

That really raised the other man's eyebrows. "Who the hell are you?" he snapped. "And this time I want an answer. An honest one."

Dean stood, grinning. "Trust me, you don't want an honest one. Besides, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Now come on, are you going to help or what?"

He grabbed a map from a pile of papers on his bed and spread it over the spare room on the table. After a moment Holden stood to join him.

Dean looked up at the other man, wishing some other cop had decided to go for a midnight stroll the night before. "So, name some places, Holden. Abandoned warehouses, that kind of thing. Where could a bunch of idiots hide and take people they kidnap?"

* * *

They came for him a few hours after dawn. Sam was sitting against the back wall, talking with Blake, keeping an eye on that trap door. He had known they would come. They would want to know who he was.

Finally the bang echoed through the barn and Sam counted them, sizing the vampires up, as they came up from the tunnel under the building. There were five of them, and Sam felt satisfaction when it became obvious they had sent the biggest ones to come and get him. Each carried an oddly-shaped baton. At least there were no machetes this time.

He stood as they came closer, and Blake stood with him. Sam's heart pounded and he welcomed it. The adrenaline coursed, but this time he was careful to hold onto himself. He didn't want to blank out again.

The vampires stopped by the door, and Zane looked in on him with a feral grin.

"You going to fight us?" the vampire asked. Sam shrugged.

"Why not," he answered. "Nothing else to do around here."

Zane didn't reply, just nodded his head and gestured for the others to open the door. Sam decided not to wait however.

He took the initiative and sprung forward, slamming the door shut on the first vampire trying to come into the cell. The creature gave a loud groan as the edge of the door slammed on his chest, and Sam followed it up with a kick to its groin. Glad to see that male vampires had the same weakness as male humans, he opened the door again and the vampire dropped. Sam finished it off with a kick to its head.

He leapt through the door, shoving away shocked vampires. He made a run for the open trap door.

He had underestimated the speed of the bastards though. Halfway to the door in the floor, something tackled him from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground. Spinning on the ground, he lashed out with a fist and felt it connect with something fleshy. The vampire collapsed for a moment, and Sam drove a knee up into its gut before shoving it off and looking to find the trap door.

But his scuffle with the second vampire had allowed time for the rest to close in. Sam didn't even get a chance to get to his feet before vampires all around began kicking. Sam curled in on himself to minimize the area where feet could reach him.

After a moment it stopped, and Sam, gasping for breath, kicked out. His foot hit something and he heard a groan and then a thud. He rolled to his feet, blocking with both hands as another kicked out. He ducked under another's swinging baton and lashed out –

Sam was waking before he even had the chance to realize the world had gone white. He was laying on the ground, shaking, gasping for breath, struggling to hold back the waves of pain echoing through his body.

He hadn't blanked out, that he knew for sure. Barely a second had passed between the world going white and coming to in time to find legs all around. But all he knew was that something had gotten him.

A toe appeared and nudged him over none too gently. He went with the movement, groaning as he came to rest on a particularly sore spot, to the right of his lower back, incredibly near a kidney.

He looked up, still panting. He looked straight up into Zane's grinning but mirthless eyes as the vampire swung his strange baton. Then the creature took a firmer grip on it and leant down, looking intent on stabbing Sam with the baton.

Again the world went white and Sam went stiff, this time feeling the electricity coursing through his body, a painful substitute for the adrenaline that had been there moments before.

When it finally stopped he curled in on himself, trying to shove the pain away. Again he was gasping, looking at legs, barely able to string together one word, let alone a curse for the bastard electrocuting him. No wonder the baton had looked strange. It wasn't a baton at all but a freaking cattle prod.

Aching all over, Sam wished he could have fought as one vampire leaned down and rolled him over. He wished he could have struggled as they pulled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists. Even more, he wished he could have just lain there as they dragged him to his feet and dropped him through the trap door. But he was having trouble just breathing. Wishing was useless. But he had discovered that even before thought had been banished from his mind.

* * *

Within an hour Dean had circled twelve possible hiding spots for whatever bastard had taken Sam. His frustration grew with each bright red circle, and wasn't helped by Holden also mentioning the twenty or so farms in the surrounding area. And then Dean had a wonderful thought.

"The sewers," he said out of nowhere. He sighed, placing a hand to his forehead. "They could also be hiding in the sewers. I mean, it could explain why hardly any trail was found."

Holden shook his head. "We know they drive a van," he told Dean.

The hunter looked up. "That wasn't in any of the newspapers."

The cop shook his head. "Nope. After the first couple of disappearances gave us hardly any evidence, we figured it would be better if we knew something they didn't know we knew."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's just stupid. Maybe people would run faster if they knew to be on the lookout for a van."

Holden just shrugged. "Orders are orders. Who knows what the top cats are thinking. Besides, it's not like it's that big of a deal. We still couldn't follow the trail – they go around in circles, until we lose track of where we've been and where they're going."

Dean nodded, not really caring. It meant a bit to him. It meant the possibilities of what this thing could be were narrowed down. It had to have hands and legs, to be able to drive a car. It had to be some kind of creature, seeing as he had already ruled out demons, and ghosts couldn't exactly drive.

"All right, is that it?" he asked Holden. The cop scoured the map once more, frowning deeply in thought. Then he nodded.

"Yeah, that's it."

Dean looked down and groaned. "Right. Of course it is. This could take a while." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. So I guess we start on one side and work our way across. Might as well start on the east side seeing as that's where all the disappearances have been so far."

Holden nodded with a shrug. "'Spose. So you think we'll find them at one of these places?"

"I hope so," Dean said with a shake of his head. He stood up straight. "Right. Let's get going."

He made an act of locking the door, but halfway to the car, he stopped, as if he had forgotten something. "Just go on to the car. It's the last one, at the end. I'll just grab my phone."

He went back, glancing towards Holden occasionally to make sure the man wasn't following. Back in his motel room he grabbed a gun loaded with silver bullets, the tooth, and his dad's journal. His hand paused over that last for a moment, remembering with a sad smile. Then he brought his mind back to business, swearing to his father that he would mourn in his own way _after_ he got Sam back. He locked the door behind him again, phone out of his pocket as 'proof' of his need to go back.

"Got it," the hunter claimed, showing off the cell. Holden didn't pay any attention. He was looking at Dean's Impala, a look of wonder on his face.

"Is this yours?" he asked in awe. Dean grinned.

"Uh huh. This is my sweet baby." He gave the car an appreciative pat as he went by on his way to the driver's side door. Then he gave the cop a quizzical glance. "Why, you like the classics?"

Holden nodded, still admiring the black beauty. "Yeah. But I always wanted a Shelby."

Dean nodded. "Mustang, nice," he said grudgingly, thinking maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all. Someone with that taste in cars couldn't be all bad. "You coming or what?"

* * *

So, nothing chapter again. To make up for it, and to make up for not posting last night, I'll give you another chapter…. right….. now.


	9. Chapter 9: Truth Wanted

**Warning:** Same as, same as.

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Chapter 9: Truth Wanted

The room they had dragged Sam to was small and windowless, filled with empty boxes, and surprisingly warm, though he was comparing it to the cell he had spent the last thirty or so hours in.

Making sure he couldn't see out of any windows, Zane and his group of vampires had pushed and shoved him through the underground tunnel into the farmhouse one hundred feet away. And they hadn't been gentle about it. Any time they had passed a room with a window in it, Sam had found himself hit around the head or shocked with a cattle prod again. The result was he had lost all sense of direction and had no clue how to get out the seemingly maze-like house.

That was, even if he could have gotten out of the room. They had thrown him in and left him to gasp for breath, aching all over from the shocks and with a headache coming on strong. His hands were still tied, his ribs were hurting, and he was pretty sure the wound on the back oh his head had broken open again.

But he was alive. Which was more than he could say for Bailly. The now-ex-convict had become chow for some lucky vampire Zane had made Sam pass. The sight of the blood-sucking bastard digging into the dead man with no thought for cleanliness had made Sam want to hurl. Though that might just have been the effect of being kicked, thrown and electrocuted.

He had been in this room for an hour before someone came back. He was on his feet by then, the lingering aches slowly fading, and had been scouring the room in the vain hope of some easy way out. Out of the room, out of the house. Hell, he'd have settled for some way out of the rough ropes digging into his wrists, but no such luck.

He turned to face the door as he heard people coming. Hoping – in vain once again – that they were going to leave him alone for longer. But the door swung open a minute later, and three vampires walked in.

Sam watched them suspiciously. It seemed that Zane hadn't been given the job of getting the information out of him. He recognised the vampire in the middle though. With the quickly fading bruise on his right temple it had to be Howl.

Sam backed up to the corner made by boxes, knowing he couldn't really fight with his hands behind his back but unwilling to just let them do what they wanted without fuss.

Howl just laughed and motioned with his hand. Sam tensed as the other two came forward, glad that they had decided to leave the prods behind. It wouldn't have made much difference however; the two vampires grabbed onto his arms and dragged him forward, only tightening their grip when he tried to struggle free.

They blindfolded Sam and dragged him from the room roughly. Two lefts and a right turn later they made him spin ninety degrees before pushing him backwards. He gave a grunt as his back hit a metal pole, which also made him fall to the side. He felt hands pick him back up and press him hard against the pole. He struggled slightly, knowing it was useless. But he wasn't about to give up.

A moment later he went still though. Something scraped along his neck and he paused, recognising the thin line as a knife.

"Make a move," the vampire on the other end whispered. "And I'll slice you open and feed on you while it's still warm."

"You wouldn't dare," Sam said softly. Softly because he could feel the knife pressing on his throat when he spoke. And he didn't move. He liked his neck nice and closed, and he wasn't about to chance having it slit.

He kept still as his hands were untied and then retied so he was bound to the pole. The knife was moved away when he was secure, and Sam unwillingly took a deep breath.

The blindfold was kept on, so Sam tried to use his abilities to sense where the vampires were. Their tainted sense made him feel slightly nauseous, though again that could have been the electric shocks catching up to him. But he could sense them. There were still three of them. One in front, one to the left, and one just behind him slightly to the right.

He kept his gaze up at the one in front. When it moved, Sam's head moved, and he could feel their surprise when he did, considering how silently they crossed the floor.

After a moment, the vampire in front moved closer to him. Sam waited, waited for it to come close enough. Then, when it was only two feet away, he kicked out, catching the vampire in the leg with such force that it fell to the ground.

He earned an ear-ringing slap for it, but he was grinning as the vampire got to its feet and came up close to him, angry now. "That wasn't very nice," it snapped, coming in close from the side to avoid any more kicks. Instead this time it was the one that kicked out, and Sam grunted as his ribs took more blows.

The vampire, Howl Sam thought, took a step back. He took deep breaths and turned to face it. But he stayed silent, just staring at it.

The room was quiet for a moment. And then Howl got down to the reason they were here in the first place.

"So, want to tell us your name?" it asked, staying still.

Sam shook his head. "Not really," he answered as lightly as he could. Inside he was tense beyond belief, knowing what was coming. More pain. But he wasn't giving into these bastards. He had more pride than that.

He didn't think about the affect being broken would have on said pride. He refused to. His mind had already been broken once in the past few days, and all he could think was that he wasn't giving in to evil sons of bitches again.

Howl came a step closer. "You know you'll tell us eventually," it warned, its voice promising.

Sam shrugged. "We'll see."

He braced himself for the punch and the result was he saw only dozens of stars instead of hundreds. He shook his head, losing track for a moment of where each vampire was, and earned himself another kick to the ribs.

"Dammit!" he cried, leaning over. "What is it with you bastards and my ribs!"

One of them chuckled, but it was Howl who spoke. "Tell us what we want to know and we'll leave your ribs alone."

Sam sat up straighter. "Go to hell," he spat.

This time he felt the punch break skin, and blood started dribbling down his cheek. Immediately the air in the room felt more alive, as the vampires got the smell of his blood in their noses. The atmosphere seemed more vibrant, more charged, and he knew at least one of them stiffened.

Sam stiffened too as Howl moved closer, squatting beside him. The hunter tried to move away, but Howl still reached out and traced a finger through the blood. Sam felt like throwing up as the vampire got a taste of him.

"Mmm, nice," it whispered, and Sam tried to lean away from the words. "I think you'd be a nice treat. Maybe I shouldn't break you. If I kill you before I learn anything, they'll give you to me. And I'll suck you dry without thought, in a matter of minutes."

Sam reined in his disgust and turned to face the vampire. "Well, then I'd hope you choke on it," he whispered icily.

Howl chuckled. "I appreciate a challenge," it began. The door opening interrupted him, and all three turned to face the newcomer.

"What is it?" Howl snapped, angry at being interrupted.

"You have to come," the newcomer answered. "You all do. Boreal is here."

Again, the atmosphere changed immediately. The three vampires stood up straighter, becoming excited in a respectful way, like someone about to meet the president, Sam thought. And all three left, a deep thud the only sound one of them made.

He waited in the silence for a moment before judging that no one was around, and that no one seemed to be coming back.

After rubbing his head against his shoulder a few times he managed to get the blindfold out of his eyes and onto his forehead. Thankful to be out of the dark, he looked around.

The room he was in was dimly lit. It was small, but bigger than the one he had been in. As he studied the walls, he found himself very glad that someone had shown up, as he took in the array of instruments hanging haphazardly. He didn't concentrate too hard on them, but he was suddenly sure they didn't care about making fight anymore. They just wanted to know who he was. And they would have known as well, if they had begun using the things on the wall.

Only one wall was bare of the devices, and a window took up most of that space. Any direct sunlight was blocked by a thick curtain. Under the window ran a high bench, but Sam couldn't see what was on it. Except for one thing.

The knife stood up straight near the edge of the bench, unmoving. Too far from him to reach, even if he stretched his legs. But maybe not if he stretched his mind.

He bit his lip, staring at the knife. He hadn't even thought about using his powers since the demon had fled his body. Truth be told, he was scared. Scared of what it might awaken. Some leftover from the bastard, perhaps. Something that had been there the whole time. Some darkness like what the demon had promised was inside of him, made more alive by the presence of evil-almost-incarnate.

But he needed to get out of this damn place. And for that, he needed the knife. And to get that, he needed to use his telekinesis.

He began hoping he _could_ use it, as he shifted on the floor, his ass already going numb. He began concentrating, remembering when he had used it in Richmond. He had used anger then. He would have to use anger now.

He thought on the fight he had seen the night before. Not his, he couldn't remember any of it. But the one before. When the convict had pummelled the other guy. He remembered the blood, the bloodthirsty cheers of the vampires. He thought long and hard on the idea that they had been kidnapped just so those sadistic bastards could watch them be beaten to death.

He opened his eyes, breathing deeply as he felt the power fill him. Like a door it opened in his mind, and he watched the room, quivering slightly as he tried to contain the energy. Even then it made the instruments on the wall shake, banging softly against the walls. He hoped no one was listening in.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the knife. In his head he imagined it floating up and over to him. He eyed it, glared at it, willing it to rise out of the wood.

It began shaking, and then, as he watched, it rose, slowly, shaking as Sam struggled to keep control over. It didn't help that he was tired, and hurting. But he didn't think about that. He thought only of the knife coming towards him.

It paused in the air, turning slightly, Sam's own mind rebelling against the strain. He frowned, feeling the sweat start.

"Come on," he whispered urgently at it. "Come on!"

Perhaps sensing the insistence in his voice, the knife decided to 'come on'. It came on, fast, dangerous end facing Sam. He flinched, unable to do much but tense and close his eyes as he prepared to feel the blade sinking into his flesh.

* * *

Teensy cliffhanger, kinda stupid really. But if I'd let it go on, like I'd planned, then the chapter would have been heaps long.


	10. Chapter 10: Revelations

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Ummm, same as.

**Author's Note:** So, thanks to everyone who's reviewing, I love you all! Only two and a bit days until Croatoan (for us Aussies who haven't seen it via downloads/pirate copies) and I CANNOT wait! Oh, and sorry, this chapter's a bit looooong.

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Chapter 10: Revelations

_It began shaking, and then, as he watched, it rose, slowly, shaking as Sam struggled to keep control over. It didn't help that he was tired, and hurting. But he didn't think about that. He thought only of the knife coming towards him._

_It paused in the air, turning slightly, Sam's own mind rebelling against the strain. He frowned, feeling the sweat start. _

"_Come on," he whispered urgently at it. "Come on!"_

_Perhaps sensing the insistence in his voice, the knife decided to 'come on'. It came on, fast, dangerous end facing Sam. He flinched, unable to do much but tense and close his eyes as he prepared to feel the blade sinking into his flesh._

* * *

It never came. When it didn't, he popped one eye open, and then both. The knife was right in front of him, twirling slightly in the air. It had stopped bare inches from his face. He sighed with relief and at the same time released the energy. The knife dropped to his lap.

From there it was a matter of twisting and pushing to get the knife where his hands could grab it. And a minute later he was free.

Sighing, he stretched his shoulders, before pressing around his ribs, making sure nothing was broken. Then he stood, feeling his face and wincing at the growing bruises. He wasn't going to look pretty for a while.

He moved silently to the door and tried to turn the handle. It was locked. He didn't try shaking it. He didn't want to alert anyone to his liberated presence. Not yet anyway.

He started searching the instruments on the wall, looking for anything he could pick the lock with. He yawned once while doing so, realizing how exhausted he was becoming. He wouldn't be using the telekinesis again, that was for sure. But he still had to get out of the room.

He put the wide knife through the belt around his jeans, loosening the leather for easy access to the weapon. He hit the jackpot when he found… something. He frowned over the instrument, wondering what it was for and hoping he would never personally find out. But he broke two small, very thin, metal rods off of it and made his way back to the door. He knelt by it, listening intently, before picking the lock and making his way from the room. He locked it behind him, so if anyone did decide to check on him they would find the door apparently not tampered with and hopefully not bother to look in.

He made his way to his right, the opposite direction from which he had been dragged there. He crept along silently, knife out.

Voices could soon be heard, but he made his way along at the same pace, refusing to give into anxiety or panic. His grip on the blade was tight, his knuckles pale.

He paused though, by the room where the voices were coming from. He recognised Marco as the one talking, but the door was closed, so he couldn't see who this Boreal was. He found he didn't care. The door was closed, he could get by without the chance of being seen.

He crept by, wincing as the floor squeaked. But no one shouted, there came no difference in the air, and Sam kept on, feeling about with his mind for that tainted sense he was becoming accustomed to. Nothing was close, and he breathed easier.

He found the entry a few minutes later, wondering how he had done so without being seen. Then he realized why they seemed so lax in their own home.

Three vampires guarded the front door, each carrying a long machete. Sam thought about taking them on for a bare moment. Then he knew that even if he could fight all three, the sounds of fighting would attract attention.

He backed away, keeping his mind trained on the space around him. He had to get out soon. He had been out of the room for nearly ten minutes. Someone was going to realize he wasn't there soon.

He made his way back, looking for some other way besides the one he had come. He took a different turn, a little surprised at the size of the home. He supposed it would have to be to hold all the vampires in the nest.

He found some stairs a minute later, and paused, thinking about taking them. Maybe there would be an open window he could climb out of. In the end his decision was made for him.

A bellow echoed through the entire house. "He's gone!"

Cursing under his breath, Sam made his way up the stairs as quickly and as silently as he could. He had just disappeared around a corner when he heard footsteps thundering past the bottom of the stairs.

He found himself in a corridor lined with doors. Cursing again he began trying doors. Each seemed to be locked, but he tried handle after handle.

What he hadn't thought about was the possibility of there being inhabitants in any of the rooms behind the doors he tried. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard one of the handles turning.

He looked and saw it slowly moving. Panicking, sure he had been found out, he all but ran to the next door, turning the handle…

He almost fainted with relief as the door opened, and he stepped in, closing the door behind him. He didn't let it click shut, not yet, but waited to hear the other door close. It did, and when he didn't hear footsteps, he closed the door firmly.

Thankfully there was a lock on the inside, and he used it. He knew he was trapped now, but he hoped it would be a while before someone realized he was in there. Maybe by then he would have gotten out of this hellhole.

He turned away from the door to find himself in some kind of storage room. At least that was what it was being used for now. Maybe it used to be something else, but now Sam's eyes looked over piles of knives, wallets, clothing, belts and…

"Cell phones!" Sam breathed with shock. He couldn't believe his luck. He was so stunned by the good turn in his fortunes that for a moment he didn't move. And then he leapt forward, sorting through them one by one until he found one that worked.

Finally one turned on and Sam had to smother it to hide the jingle announcing his presence to anyone in the house who had good hearing. He listened intently once more but no one seemed aware that he was in the room. Breathing again, he waited another minute for the phone to be in working mode.

He dialled Dean's number, relieved he had learned from past mistakes and could remember the number easily. It rang for a long moment, and he used the time to look out of the window. He couldn't see far, but it was enough to give him a rough idea of where he was. He tried the window but found it locked.

"Hello?"

Dean answered the phone, and Sam was sure his brother's voice had never sounded so sweet. He jumped, dropping his hands from the window to take a better hold on the cell.

"Dean! Thank God you answered."

"Sam? Sam! Damn, Sammy, are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you? How could you let something get you? Dammit Sammy, you have no idea how worried -."

Sam had to cut Dean off before his brother's relief gave way to anger.

"Dean, Dean calm down, please. I'm okay. A few bruises, but I'm all good. Look, I don't know how much time I have," the younger brother warned, looking around the room for something he could pick the lock on the window with, because of course he had left the other metal rods downstairs.

"Fine, Sammy. Where are you? And ah… who has you?"

Sam frowned, pausing as he tried to snap an aerial off a phone. "Who? Dean, you working with someone?"

He was sure Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, some cop who found me where you were taken. He wouldn't let me go unless I worked with him."

"A cop?" Sam asked incredulously. "You're working with a cop?"

Dean sighed. "Sam, answer the damn question. What happened to not having much time?"

"Sorry," Sam apologised. "Look, I don't know much. According to the cop who was taken, we're about an hour out of Cromwell. On a farm. It looks like it was abandoned until recently. Ah, house is two stories, big, barn about a hundred feet away. Um, no roads from where I can see, but I'm facing east. Sorry, that's all I can tell you. I was unconscious when they brought me in."

"That's fine Sammy," Dean comforted. "That's enough. Now, can you -."

Sam almost dropped the phone as he heard the doorknob rattle. Then, "Who's in there?"

"Shit," Sam swore, leaping for the door to lean against it. It rattled again before someone thumped into it. Sam winced.

"Look, Dean, I really don't have much time. They found me."

"He's in here!" the vampire on the other side shouted, running at the door again.

"Sam, you there still?" Dean cried frantically.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here." Sam had to nearly yell to be heard above the running feet and the shouting outside the door. He kept one hand on the doorknob, the other on the phone.

"Sam, describe 'em for me!" Dean ordered. The besieged hunter could hear someone in the phone's background calling out.

"Dean, they're vampires!" Sam cried, pushing hard against the door. He heard the knob unlock and took a tighter grip.

"Va… you're kidding me?"

"Dean, does it sound like I'm kidding!" Sam shouted. Another thump made him fall back. "Look, trust me, they're vampires. Big pointy teeth, don't really like the sunlight, though it doesn't kill the bastards." He reinforced the door again.

"Did they…" Dean paused as Sam assumed glanced at the cop. Then he sighed. "Did they bite you Sam?"

"No," the younger hunter confirmed. "That's not really why they took everyone. They make us fight. Those convicts, the vampires were responsible for breaking them out. Remember the drained bodies. They make us fight the convicts and they make us fight them. The loser gets eaten. Dean -."

Another thump sent him sprawling back and a second later vampires poured into the room. Sam jumped to his feet, unwilling to give up this easy. He could hear Dean calling his name from the phone, but ignored it. He ignored everything. Turning on the balls of his feet, he jumped for the window.

Glass shattered around him, and his breath left him as he landed on the roof of the verandah. Then he was rolling, wincing as slates dug into his back, into his sides, into his stomach. And then he was falling, dreading and welcoming any landing.

* * *

"Sam? Sam? Sammy!" Dean shouted into the phone. There was no answer from his little brother, and he hit the steering wheel. Next to him, Holden gave an anxious glance.

Next thing both heard shattering glass, and, horrified, Dean heard the phone go dead.

Hands shaking, he closed the phone before resting it against his head. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening.

"Dammit!" he shouted, hitting the steering wheel again. And again. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes. Well, at least he had more to go on now. He hoped he had time to figure it all out. By the sound of that, Sam had jumped out of a window.

"What did he say?" Holden asked, interrupting Dean's thought processing.

Dean leaned forward again, putting the Impala into gear and getting back onto the road from where he had parked when he had realized it was Sam who was calling.

"They're on a farm, about an hour out of town. Two stories, big, with a barn about a hundred feet away. No roads to the east. The farm was abandoned, now it's got new tenants who are kidnapping people and making them fight each other. They're also responsible for breaking the convicts out."

"You said something about biting. You asked Sam if they had bitten him. What was that about?" Holden asked curiously.

Dean shook his head, pulling into the motel. "I said fight. I asked if they had made him fight yet."

"Bullshit," Holden countered, getting out of the car. "I'm not an idiot. And I know a lie when I see one. I'm a cop, people lie to me all the time."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you been a hundred percent truthful with me either, Holden," Dean snapped as they walked to room.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The cop leaned against the wall as Dean unlocked the door. The hunter shrugged. "I mean, when you told me your reason for wanting me to help you. You lied. Or you didn't tell me everything, which is still lying by the way."

They went in and Dean grabbed the map and unrolled it, spreading it once more over the table. Holden appeared to be having some difficulty.

"Look," the cop began, and Dean groaned inwardly, knowing the dude was about to have some deep and meaningful revelation about his innermost thoughts. They were bad enough with Sam. He wasn't sure he could handle it from another person.

"I wasn't lying. I did want to help because we weren't getting anywhere. But that has a reason behind it. My partner, he was taken the night before your brother was. He's like my best friend, and he's married to my sister. And when I went to see her, I kind of promised her I'd get Blake back alive. And I knew that wasn't going to happen with the progress we were making, so I came to find you."

Dean was silent for a moment, thinking that over. Then he nodded. "Okay. So, what farms are about an hour out?"

Holden's face stiffened with anger. "I just told you something real personal, and that's your reaction?"

Dean stood up straight, sighing. "Look, dude, I don't do chick-flicks. The only person that ever happens with is my brother. And seeing as he's not here, it's not happening. Now, if you want to keep that promise to your sister, tell me what farms are an hour out."

Holden paused again, before sighing. "There are five of them," he answered, pointing to them on the map. "Here, here, here, here and here."

Dean looked up at him hopefully. "Any of them abandoned until recently?" he asked.

Holden winced. "All of them, from my knowledge. I mean, we've had like an influx of people wanting the country life in the past couple of months. And a few of them rent their properties out, privately, so at times we don't have any idea whether or not someone's living there."

Dean groaned. "I really don't want to check them all. I mean, we just spent the whole morning searching uselessly through abandoned buildings. Searching these could take forever, seeing as they're spread so far apart."

"True," the cop answered with a grin. "But we might not have to search them all. Look, you said the people who took Blake and your brother also broke the prisoners out, right." Dean nodded. "Well, they were as careful choosing them as they were choosing who to kidnap. I mean, they only took the real nasty ones, murderers, rapists, those kind of people. Not nice men. Fighters, no doubt twice as good as the men they kidnapped."

"So?" Dean asked, not knowing where this was going.

"So, how did they know who to let out? I mean, the break out was done with precision, it came out of nowhere and was over half an hour and seven dead guards later. So, how did they know who to take, how to get them out, how to get in?"

Finally Dean saw it. "They had someone on the inside. Someone working there who could organise the whole thing."

Holden nodded. "So, we get a list of all the men who were working there, see if any suddenly stopped working there after the prisoners escaped, and check their addresses with the farms."

Dean had a dampening thought. "What if they put a different address down?" he asked.

Holden shrugged, losing that grin. "Then I guess we check all the farms. But it's worth a shot."

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me."

The cop nodded back, standing. "I'll go now. You probably shouldn't come, I mean they might suspect something's weird if I show up with you and you're not a cop."

Dean could have told him about the numerous false badges he had in a box in the Impala, but he had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well. Besides, he wanted to make a phone call.

"Fine. I'll stay here, do some more research on each house. Maybe something there'll tell us something if your lead comes up dry."

Holden left and Dean waited a moment. Then he sighed, a little relieved to be alone again. He was beginning to lose his dislike of the man, but Holden could still be annoying. Good cop, but annoying.

Dean sat down and pulled the tooth from his pocket. So, vampires. He vaguely remembered the demon mentioning them just before it had tried to kill them with Sam's body. Something about his dad killing one with the Colt. But besides that, he had always thought they were a myth. That they didn't exist. Well, he supposed he knew differently now.

He thumbed through John's journal, wondering who to call. Who would know anything about vampires? Who wouldn't just think they were pure myth? Who to call, who to call?

In the end he called Joshua again, mentally preparing for the pity he was sure to receive. After a few rings, the older hunter picked up, and Dean launched straight into it.

"Hey, Joshua, it's Dean. What do you know about vampires?"

* * *

So, what do you all think so far? We're getting close to the end now. I mean, this story's longer than any I've written so far, chapter wise. Anywho, hope you're enjoying, and I'll hopefully see you all tomorrow!


	11. Chapter 11: Thwarted

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, jelly pie.

**Warning:** F-bomb, ummmm, same as for the rest.

**Author's Note:** Sorry there was no post last night! My computer's being screwy with me and won't let me stay on for longer than ten minutes before it crashes. So, that said, sorry if there's no post tomorrow night, though that might be less cause of my computer and more because Croatoan's on. But yeah, I will post the next available time!

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Chapter 11: Thwarted

Previously…

_Another thump sent him sprawling back and a second later vampires poured into the room. Sam jumped to his feet, unwilling to give up this easy. He could hear Dean calling his name from the phone, but ignored it. He ignored everything. Turning on the balls of his feet, he jumped for the window._

_Glass shattered around him, and his breath left him as he landed on the roof of the verandah. Then he was rolling, wincing as slates dug into his back, into his sides, into his stomach. And then he was falling, dreading and welcoming any landing._

* * *

Sam woke slowly, groaning as his body was dragged over sharp bumps in the ground. His legs were elevated, and he struggled to open his eyes to find out why. What the hell had happened? The last thing he remembered was falling…

_Oh, that's what happened,_ Sam grumbled to himself in his head, realizing he had hit the ground. And been knocked out. _Great plan, Sam. Jump out of the second story window. Smartest plan ever, college boy._

He wasn't surprised to realize his inner voice sounded incredibly like Dean.

The world suddenly tilted, and he realized the sharp bumps had in fact been steps. He could feel his arms dragging behind him, hanging limply. He hoped he hadn't caused any lasting damage by taking the leap. He groaned again as he was dragged over the front door step and he told himself that was the last time he jumped out of any windows. He had been lucky not to break anything, though he was sure the pain compensated for breakages in the karma department.

He finally managed to open his eyes, just as his feet thudded into the ground. He rolled his head around, looking around and wishing the drum in his back would stop. There were legs all around, voices talking but he couldn't make them out. But he knew he was back in the vampire nest.

Legs stopped nearby and then suddenly he could see knees. And then a face. Sam groaned. "Not you," he moaned, turning away from Zane's grin. "I really can't be bothered dealing with you at the moment."

The slap actually seemed to help his concentration. It cleared some of the fog from his mind, and he shook his head, getting rid of the rest in time to see Zane's hand coming at him again.

His hand lashed out, grabbing the wrist before it could touch him. "That's not very nice," he warned icily.

Zane yanked his arm from Sam's grip, his grin now upside down. But instead of hitting again, he stood up and turned to the gathered vampires.

"Bring him. Marco wants to see him."

Sam groaned as two vampires dragged him to his feet and forced him to march onwards. He took two stumbling steps before righting himself properly. He let the two vampires lead him to a room on the other side of the home.

In it, Marco, and his mate, Marie, stood by a window that was covered with yet another thick curtain. They both watched him come in, and he glared at them, feeling anger at his failed escape attempt swell.

He was forced to stop halfway across the room, and one of the bastards holding him kicked the back of his leg so that he fell to his knees. They kept a hold of him, but still Marco frowned.

"He's shown you how dangerous he is. And you still have him untied?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at the vampire leader, wondering how the hell he had actually gotten that position. He didn't sound or look like the vampiric leader type. He was soft, worried, anxious. He saw Zane's eyebrow rise as well.

But one of the vampires holding him turned slightly, one hand leaving Sam's arm, to ask for some rope. Knowing he didn't really have any hope of actually getting away, he still acted quickly. Using the moment of distraction, he pushed himself to his feet, yanking his arm from the vampire's grip. Using the motion, he turned, elbowing the second vampire in the back of the head before spinning again and grabbing the knife from its belt.

He turned back, ducking straight away as the first vampire came at him, prod out and ready. Sam blocked it with the knife, not letting the shock anywhere near him. He stepped in, punching before grabbing its knife as well.

By then the rest of them were springing into action. Seeing only one escape route, he took it, running towards the window. It was on the ground floor, but he wasn't going to try climbing through one again. He would never get out in time. Instead, he grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it into the window. The sound of falling glass was covered by groans as sunlight filled the room.

Sam took the advantage, leaping forward and grabbing a random vampire. Taking it by one shoulder, he rammed the blade into its heart.

He stepped back, feeling proud. The vampire stood up straight, looking down at the blade, amusement written all over its face.

Wait, amusement?

"Oh, give me a break," Sam cried, realizing that yet another legend about these damn creatures was false. The thing wasn't turning into dust.

Not giving himself time to do anything but become angrier at yet another failure, he grabbed the knife back, shocked at its cleanliness. He pushed the vampire back, but he was surrounded now. He cursed, spinning, feeling something swell inside as anger began taking over. The adrenaline coursed, he could feel the strength doing the same. It seemed to fill him, and when it couldn't do that anymore, it felt like it was filling the knife in his hand. He kept on turning, finally spying Marco trying to make his way inconspicuously from the room.

He changed his grip with a precision and speed that would have impressed his brother. Then, with a roar, he threw the knife at the nest leader.

On its own, the knife never would have made an impact. What none of the vampires knew though, was that the knife was backed up by telekinetic energy. Sam himself didn't realize that that was what the adrenaline actually was until he felt the knife leave his hand. Because at the same time he felt the flow of strength stop, and he fell to his knees, exhausted once more.

But he managed to keep his head up, and he saw what happened. At his roar, Marco had turned to face them all, curiosity getting the better of him. That was why the knife, flying through the air, sunk deep into the vampire's throat, its wide blade all but severing the head.

Marco's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped. Sam felt the room go quiet, and he knew. He knew the bastard was dead.

Taking the opportunity of the stunned silence, he jumped to his feet, stumbling his way to the door. Too late, someone cried out to stop him, but he was gone, out of the door and –

He fell back, wincing as if he had hit a wall. But he hadn't, of that he was sure. What he had run into was in fact another vampire, tall, strong. As Sam fell backwards, its hand snaked out, grabbing his throat and stopping the tumble. Anger marring its pale face, it held Sam up. The hunter gasped for air through the tight grip, but it couldn't get through. He fumbled at the hand, scratching, kicking out as the hand rose, taking his battered body with it. He was lifted off the ground, amazed at the strength of this one vampire. If they had all had strength like this, Sam thought he would have been long dead.

The world was fading. Sam clutched weakly at the hand around his neck once more, gasping, kicking uselessly. Nothing seemed to faze the newcomer. His sight began going black, darkness creeping in from the edges.

The next thing he felt was his back crashing into the wall, before falling to the floor, coughing and gasping for air. The bastard had thrown him, but Sam was almost glad. He was really getting sick of almost being choked to death.

He lay there for a moment, trying to regain equilibrium. He didn't get enough time. The newcomer marched over, boots thumping on the ground. Sam tried to get up, but failed miserably, making it only to his knees before he fell back against the wall.

Readying himself, he stared up at the vampire and knew this was Boreal. The creature demanded respect, like a distanced war veteran who had seen too much but nowhere near enough. He exuded that world-wariness Sam had missed in the arrogance of the other vampires, but at the same time Boreal was far more arrogant in his power than any of the others. That was because, Sam knew, he actually wielded such strength.

He looked up at the vampire, thinking maybe he had finally met one he couldn't beat. But he readied himself all the same.

In the end it didn't matter. Boreal stared down at him with an icy sneer, before turning away to face the gathered vampires. Sam could feel the anger in the air. Anger coming directly from the vampire between him and the rest.

"You're pathetic, all of you," he snarled. "You've become so addicted to this gambling of yours that you've forgotten who you are. What you are."

Boreal turned, taking them all in. "When was the last time any of you hunted? When was the last time you tasted the fear in your victim's blood? Or revelled in the excitement of the catch? Answer me, please!"

But there was no answer, and Sam couldn't help the grin forming on his face. The rest of the vampires looked like school children caught playing in the mud when they shouldn't be.

"I thought so," Boreal continued, the sneer easy to hear in his arrogant voice. "You've become nothing. All but human, getting your excitement from others beating your meals into submission. No wonder this one boy could have escaped you all. You've lost strength, and wile, and cunning, because you refuse to treat your teeth to a fresh kill." The vampire shook his head. "You should all be shamed. Even if he is a hunter, this boy should not have been able to beat you all."

_Uh oh,_ Sam thought to himself, losing that grin. How the hell had Boreal known that? The rest of them seemed to be asking each other the same question, sharing glances as if some huge secret had been revealed.

Boreal looked at them all, disbelief etching his face. "You didn't know? You didn't know! Fools, idiots!"

In a split second, Boreal had Sam once more by the throat, holding him a foot off the ground against the wall. "How can you not tell?" the vampire shouted, Sam wincing as his ears bore the brunt of it. "How can you not smell it on him?"

Once more Boreal threw him, though this time he landed on the carpet, rolling twice before coming to rest in the centre of the room. In the centre of the vampires.

"Smell him!" Boreal ordered, and Sam flinched as sniffing could be heard. Sniffing for his scent. It was disgusting.

Boreal's feet suddenly appeared beside him, and Sam looked up into the vampire's pale, sneering face. "He's a hunter, for sure," the vampire told everyone softly. It didn't matter how loud he spoke, everyone still heard his every word. "Born and bred. Sense that darkness in him, smell it." Boreal took a deep whiff, closing his eyes. "Oh my, a Winchester."

Sam's face fell as Boreal opened his eyes, wondering how the hell the vampire had known that.

"Yes, a Winchester. It was a Winchester who killed Luthor," the vampire explained. It must have meant something to everyone else, because they all started talking amongst themselves. Sam found himself trapped in a conversation he had no clue about, and which he was pretty sure wasn't going to end well for him.

Boreal turned his gaze back to Sam. "How is dear daddy? Dead, last I heard."

"Fuck you," Sam spat venomously. He didn't even care how the bastard knew. He didn't want to know. Apparently news travelled fast in the evil community.

Boreal just grinned, before turning away. "Get him up," he snapped disgustedly. Sam didn't fight, was too exhausted too, as two of them grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Quickly his hands were bound behind his back: they weren't going to risk him almost escaping for a third time. He swore the circulation was cut off.

"What do you want to do with him?" Zane asked quietly, stepping forward. Boreal turned to him with an evil smile.

"You want to be the leader, right?" the vampire asked. Zane nodded enthusiastically, though he looked shocked that his desire had been so plain for the vampire. "Well, I want you to prove yourself. I want you to prove how worthy you are for the position. Marco was a fool, and he ended up dead."

Zane seemed confused, but Sam dreaded what was coming. "How do I prove myself?" the vampire asked.

Boreal never looked at Sam, never even twitched an eye in his direction. But the hunter knew the vampire's senses were trained on him.

"You're going to fight the hunter," Boreal explained. "And if you win, you get the leadership… And him."

* * *

So, Sam's in some deep doggy-doo. Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12: Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!

**Warning:** Bit of grossness... the vampires come out to play. Oh, and swearing.

**Author's Note:** So, only one chapter tonight, because Croatoan is on, and I have karate, so I am buusssyyyy. But thanks to everyone who's reviewed! This chapter's for you!

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Chapter 12: Calm Before the Storm

Dean snapped the phone shut and looked down at the list of things that were and weren't true about vampires. He frowned as he realized how many things _weren't_ true.

He had called Joshua, put up with the question deflecting, put up with the pity… only to find out that the man knew nothing about vampires except for the slim possibility that they did actually exist. But he had given Dean the name of someone who might know something more.

Well, that person had been almost as useless, except for the end of that conversation when the dude had given him the name of someone else.

At least he hadn't had to call anyone else. The woman Joshua's friend had put him in touch with had known everything Dean could ever have wanted to know about the bloodsucking fiends. And then some.

Staking didn't kill them. Sunlight didn't kill them. Holy water didn't kill them. Decapitating did, but you would be lucky to get close enough to do that. Unless you were unlucky enough to be the one being drained of blood. In which case you were very, very unlucky.

The blood lust was more intense than any story or movie had ever depicted it. Drove them wild apparently. And they were strong. Twice as strong as the average human. They never aged, didn't get sick. Basically immortal. Apart from the decapitation. And they were better than hounds when they got your scent; once they had it, it was for life.

They had one weakness besides a gaping throat. Dead man's blood.

Dean had to admit, that was more than kind of gross. And weird. The blood of a dead man was the only thing that could incapacitate the already dead. Or the undead. Either way, it made them sick enough for a hunter to be able to take them on easily.

Dean looked at his watch. Holden had been gone near an hour. The prison was half an hour away. He wouldn't be back for a while yet.

Without another thought, Dean picked up his keys and headed out the door. He had a funeral home to visit.

He headed there immediately, but had to pass it by when he saw a group gathered there. He wasn't about to chance being seen stealing from the place, not when Sam's life depended on him getting the dead man's blood and getting out to that farm.

Instead he parked at the abandoned end of a car park and opened the trunk. He knew guns would be useless in any attack on the nest. He grabbed every knife he could find, planning on dipping each of them in what dead man's blood he could get. He counted twelve, actually a little amused at the amount he had accumulated over the years. Each had their own story, their own history, whether it be his story or Sam's. Or their dad's.

He paused, then, unwillingly giving himself time to grieve. He leaned over the trunk of the Impala, feeling the ache in his heart grow and grow. This would be so much easier if John were here. With his help, they could have found Sam ages ago. Hell, Sam never would have been taken in the first place. And, though he couldn't admit it just yet, he missed the old man. Missed his father with a ferocity that he tended to ignore.

He shoved the grief away as he stood up straight. Crying wasn't going to get Sam back. Crying wasn't going to bring his dad back.

Twenty minutes later he was back at the funeral home, and luckily the people were gone. It was still no easy task sneaking in, but ten minutes later he was sneaking out.

He chuckled to himself despite the reason for getting the blood, as he walked back to the car, two jars of the stuff in his pockets. And that was only freaky if he thought about it.

"Like taking candy from a baby," he muttered to himself, getting his keys out a pocket.

"Easier," Holden's voice suddenly said. "Corpses don't fight back."

Dean jumped, dropping his keys, and spun to find Holden, gun out and aimed at him.

"Jesus, dude, give me a heart attack next time," he answered nonchalantly. He refrained from grinning; the cop had no clue that his gun was empty. Dean had taken the bullets out while Holden was in the bathroom. Like he was going to chance being shot when he told Holden what was going on. Really going on.

Holden cocked the gun. "Who are you and what the fuck were doing stealing blood?"

Dean sighed. "I was kinda hoping this would wait until I had proof. You're not going to believe me, you know. You're going to think I'm nuts."

The gun didn't move. "Try me," the cop snarled.

Dean shrugged. "I wasn't lying about my name." Okay, so he had been, but 'Dean Winchester' was a dead man wanted for murder. He didn't really think that would help his case. "My brother and me, we're hunters."

"Hunters?" the cop asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, there are things out there that are myths, legends… things from your worst nightmare. And me and Sam kill them."

To his surprise, Holden let the gun fall to his side. "You're right. I don't believe you." He got his phone out, dialling a number Dean was pretty sure wasn't for pizza. "And you are nuts."

Dean jumped forward quickly, putting a hand out and pushing the phone down. "Look, I don't care if you believe me or not. But my brother's still been taken by something. And so was your partner. And these things are still going to kill you, laughing as you tell them they don't exist."

He shook his head, sick of non-believers telling him he was crazy. It seemed to happen every time he went on a hunt. "I don't care if you think I'm crazy, Holden. Truth is, you're going to need me to get your partner back, to get your sister's husband back. Truth is, I need your help to get Sam back. Because even I can't take them all on."

Holden seemed to think about his words for a moment, phone still open in his hand. "And what are_ they_?" he asked suspiciously.

Dean faltered for a minute. Then he cringed. "Vampires," he offered, knowing the man wouldn't believe him.

"Vampires? You're kidding me, right? You have to be. You really are crazy." Holden seemed intent on providing some excuse for the otherwise unexplainable explanation.

Dean put his hands up. "Look," he began once more. "Can you give me another explanation? Taking into account the drained bodies of the guards at the prison," he added, seeing Holden about to do just that. "And I found a tooth, at the place where Sam was taken. Actually, it's more like a fang. And that's what Sam called them, and trust me, the kid's not crazy."

Holden was quiet for a moment. "Okay, so what, we go in there with stakes and crosses?"

Dean gaped. "You believe me?" he questioned. "You believe me that easily?"

The cop shrugged. "It makes sense. In a weird, irrational way. So, stakes and crosses yeah?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. No stakes, no crosses, no holy water, no sunlight. Decapitation is the only way to kill the bastards. But this," and he held up a jar of dead man's blood and shook it. "This is like poison for them."

Holden finally put his gun away. Dean let his grin go at the man's comfort in his useless weapon. "So, do you know where the place is?"

The cop shrugged. "I got the records of the prison. We need to sift through it a bit before we have anything solid though. What is with the grin?"

Dean grinned wider and he grabbed the clip from his pocket. He chucked it to the startled cop, who immediately checked his weapon. Dean laughed.

"Small consolation, Holden. That's useless against vampires anyway."

* * *

Sam looked up as a door above him opened, and he groaned as he felt the strain on his shoulders. He was in the cellar, a dank, dark, small space that smelled incredibly bad. It reminded him of Mordecai's cellar, except about three times smaller. It was below ground, and hadn't been used, he was told, in years.

His hands were chained above his head, he was thirsty, and he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. Nearly two days. Already his shoulders were aching, and it had only been a few hours. He was shivering, and his body ached from being thrown around like a rag doll. And there was no way out.

In all, he had decided it wasn't looking good. He was just wishing Dean would hurry up and rescue his ass. He'd even put up with his brother calling him a damsel if he would just show up in the next ten minutes. _No, scrap that,_ he thought, his muddled mind remembering the door opening._ The next ten seconds would be freaking awesome._

He concentrated on the footsteps, forcing his mind through the thoughts that wouldn't keep still. His head was fogged, because of the cold, and the pains, and just sheer exhaustion.

But he managed to concentrate on the footsteps, looking up as vampires descended the steps. He refrained from grimacing as Zane, Maria and a few others came into view. He wasn't sure what they wanted, but he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be pleasant.

The others stopped a few feet from the bottom of the steps, but Zane came on, until Sam could have reached out to kick him. He suppressed the urge to do that though, knowing he was otherwise helpless and that it would only aggravate the vampire.

"You've caused quite a stir up there, you know," Zane began, prowling like a caged dog. "They can't believe it. A hunter, a _Winchester_, in our very midst this whole time, and no one noticed."

"I told you that you were idiots," Sam said, grinning, unable to help himself. "But you just wouldn't listen."

His head snapped back as Zane punched him, blood flying from his nose immediately. He groaned, collapsing for a moment and pulling on his arms until he got his footing again. His nose continued bleeding and his eyes watered.

Standing back up, he shook his head, and again, blood splattered everywhere. Sam watched in disgust as it rolled down Zane's face. The vampire didn't seem to care, or notice for that matter.

"You've become quite the fascination," Zane continued. "Everyone's talking about our fight. Boreal's talking about how it will be the showdown of all showdowns. How we'll finally get to show you hunters how much better we vampires are."

"Good luck with that," Sam offered him. He watched as one vampire stepped forward, metal pole in hand. Zane took it, stepped to the side, and snapped it across Sam's stomach, driving all air from his lungs. He fell again, gasping and coughing.

Zane waited until the hunter was finished before continuing once more. "You see though, Boreal's convinced it will be on mostly equal terms," he said quietly as Sam got back to his feet, wincing as his shoulders throbbed. "He's a fool, of course."

Sam didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what the vampire was getting at. Maybe he didn't want to.

"What, no smart ass comment, Winchester? Good, you're learning." The bastard grinned. "You see, the problem I have with Boreal's plan is this. I'm a betting man. Or vampire, anyway. I like odds, and I like odds to be in my favour. And at the moment, it's not quite there. Even weakened as you are, even if I fed on every human in that barn, I still think you would beat me in a fair fight."

"Damn straight I would," Sam interrupted. "Like Boreal said, you're pathetic."

Again the pole flew at him, hitting him in the ribs this time. Sam didn't fall, but cried out this time, feeling a sharp pain begin at his ribs. Nothing was broken, but he was sure they were fractured.

Zane dropped the pole, taking a deep, triumphant breath. "That idiot Boreal told us not to hurt you. He wants to see you fight in your prime. I want to see me win. I want to see me become the leader of our little nest. We've been doing this for a long time, and one conservative vampire and a puny little human are not going to ruin that for us."

He smiled and took a step back. Maria took a step forward, until they were standing next to each other. "I'm not the only one with a problem, Winchester. Maria has one as well. With you. Want to know what it is?"

"Not really," Sam answered, breathing heavily through the pain in his ribs.

Zane ignored him. "Her problem is this. You killed Marco. You murdered her mate."

"No I didn't," Sam retorted. Zane raised an eyebrow. "He wasn't human. He was just a bloodsucking bitch. Murder's reserved for those who actually have a pulse."

The vampire glared and rushed forward, grabbing a tight hold on Sam's chin. He winced, feeling the pressure as the bastard squeezed as hard as he could. Any harder and Sam's jaw would have been pulverised.

"You murdered him!" Zane spat. "And for Maria, it was like you cut off one of her limbs. She wants payback for that. You destroyed her life when you destroyed her lover!"

Sam didn't answer, couldn't answer through the tight grip on his jaw. But Maria stepped forward, and he could see the dullness to her eyes. The only spark was a small one, deep in there, promising vengeance.

He felt every muscle tense unwillingly, knowing that vengeance was going to hurt. Zane smiled as he felt it and stepped back, letting go of the hunter's jaw with a strong shake of his head. Sam turned back, concentrating on Maria, who had her fangs drawn. Even in the dark of the cellar, the teeth shone.

Maria took her place in front of him, lifting his shirt and running his fingers over his body. It wasn't done gently, but rather she ran her nails into his skin, deep enough to just bring blood to the surface. He groaned, putting his head back.

That was why he didn't see her head descend. That was why he didn't know until it was too late.

Her head fell forward, and before Sam knew what was going on, he screamed with the pain as she began sucking blood from his torso.

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Come on, it's vampires. I had to have a feeding in there somewhere. On someone alive, too.


	13. Chapter 13: Finding Sam

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Swearing, and violence, same as.

**Author's Note:** OMG! How good is Croatoan! Not as good as I expected it would be, but I don't think anything could be as good as I expected it to be. And can I just say, Jared Padalecki, you are one damn fine actor my boy! That's now two weeks in a row you've tugged at that icy heart of mine!

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Chapter 13: Finding Sam

Dean sat on one side of the table, going through half the records of employees who were working the night the convicts disappeared. He had almost finished his second run through, and still,

"Nothing!" he spat, chucking the papers back down on the table. "None of them left."

Holden sighed, nodding as he put his half of the records down. He looked just as frustrated as Dean felt. "I know. They're all still there. It makes no sense. Why would he still be working there if they got what they wanted?"

"In case they want more fighters?" Dean suggested, running a hand through his hair.

Holden shook his head. "No, they wouldn't be able to do it again. That place is on high alert. If these… vampires are like the rest of those disappearances you found out about, they're not going to stay long enough for the prison to become quiet again. They wouldn't have needed him there still."

"You find anyone who left a couple of days before?" Dean asked hopefully, though you couldn't have told from his voice.

"Yeah, but it couldn't have been him. He wouldn't have had any keys, and whoever did it had keys. And besides, he transferred to a prison in Kansas, he wasn't even in the state."

Dean frowned. "The prison would be doing its own inquiry, right? Into who helped, I mean, if there was no sign of forced entry."

Holden nodded slowly. "Yeah, they are. So far though, they've come up with as much as we have. Which is squat."

"I know, I know," Dean answered, hope rising as he had an idea. "But maybe they've been looking in the wrong places. Maybe we have too."

"What do you mean?" the cop asked, frowning. "We've been searching for someone who left after the breakout, right?"

"And who do we know that left the prison then?" Dean asked back, getting excited now.

"Ah, no one," Holden told him, obviously once more worried about the hunter's state of mental health.

"Wrong," Dean replied. "The seven guards who were killed, they all left."

"Yeah, but they were dead. I don't think -."

Dean cut him off. "Yeah, but we have been looking for someone who's alive as being the vampire insider. When vampires aren't alive at all. They don't have a pulse, they hardly go out into the sun. They don't need to breath. And, only six of the guards were drained. One wasn't. Why, because they were full up? I doubt it. And what's the best way to show you didn't help in something?"

Holden was catching on now. "Die from it," he answered, getting a little excited as well. "So, you think that seventh guard was the insider?"

"I'd bet on it," Dean confirmed. "Now all we have to do is find as much as we can about him. Did you grab the records from the dead men?"

Holden grinned. "I grabbed every record I could. Hang on, it's around here somewhere."

He leaned over and sorted through a pile of papers. Dean looked out the window where the sun was beginning to go down. He sighed, wishing they could have gone in during the day. Too late for that, if the farm was an hour out. But he wasn't going to wait until morning. Sam could be dead by morning. Or worse.

"Ok, these are the records of the dead men. Let's see… which one was it that wasn't drained."

Dean shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. "Any of them live at one of those farms though?"

"Hang on…" Holden mumbled, studying intently. He flipped through three pages before his eyes lit up. "I can't believe it. We may have the bastards."

He passed the record to Dean, who looked over it. Holden leaned over the table, pointing.

"See. His name's Frank Howling. Everyone called him Howl. Lives on a farm that's about an hour out. Where's the map?"

Dean motioned vaguely, looking through the man's profile. Holden scowled before moving a few papers out of the way. The hunter didn't pay much attention. He was studying the photo, looking for some clue that the man was actually a vampire. And why no one had spoken about his body going missing from the morgue. He supposed it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that tonight the bitch was going down. Along with the rest of the vampires holding Sam. Even if the man did look like human. The woman he had spoken to about them had said that that was where their danger came from. They could blend in so easily with the race from which they came.

"It's gotta be him. And it's gotta be this farm. I'm sure of it," Holden said suddenly. Dean dropped the papers and stood so he could see. "It's about an hour out. The road's to the west of the house. That's all I can tell from the map, but…"

"But that one has to be it," Dean finished for him. He turned, picking up his bag full of knives. Behind him Holden was standing as well, grabbing the crossbow he had promised to ignore once all this was over. That was after Dean had convinced him that any more police officers would be useless considering all they would do was anger the vampires by trying to shoot them.

"Ready for this?" Dean asked the cop, pausing for a moment before they left the motel room. "I mean, you ready to fight something you don't believe in?"

Holden thought about it for a moment. He looked down to the crossbow in his hands. "What does it matter? This'll kill a human just as quick as it'll poison one of your vampires."

Dean grinned. "That's my kind of philosophy," he said with a nod. "Come on Holden. We've got a party to crash."

Sam didn't look up the second time he heard the cellar door opening. His shoulders and neck were too sore by then. He wasn't sure how long he had been down there. Time seemed to have no place in the dank room. All he knew was that it had been a long time since they had left him alone.

He ached. He had no problems admitting that to himself. The bruises and stiffness were taking hold because he couldn't move far. And it was only a while ago that the bite marks had stopped bleeding. And he was weak. Too weak to even think about being able to beat Zane. The vampire might have been a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He knew Sam had no chance. He had made it so.

Again, his thoughts had no grounding, but Sam tried to focus on the feet coming down the steps. There was a group of them, like before, booted feet stomping and hurting his head.

He sighed, opening his eyes as the feet came to a stop around him. He looked into Howl's grinning eyes.

"Fuck off," he said wearily, closing his eyes again. All he wanted to do was sleep. The blood loss was getting to him.

For an answer the vampire stood up on his toes and unlocked the cuffs around Sam's hands. He opened his eyes with a start as he fell to the floor, smothering a cry as the blood rushed back into his arms.

He didn't get any time to recover. As he groaned on the ground Howl and another leaned down to grab his arms, dragging him to his feet. They struggled slightly to get him up the stairs. He wasn't making it easy on them.

Still, the walk seemed to do him good. Some of the fog in his head cleared, and the feeling was coming back to his limbs. It wasn't so cold above ground, even though the sun was down. Not long down, but enough for vampires to be free to move across the land.

By the time they reached the passage between the farm and the house he was able to walk by himself. He shrugged his captors off angrily, taking a deep breath and standing up straight. He ignored the sting in his ribs and walked proudly, refusing to show anything but confidence. And he was beginning to feel it as well. Strength was returning; all he felt now was dizzy. Nothing worse than a mild concussion. And he had fought with those plenty of times before. Maybe he did have a chance.

Hearing the noise from the barn, he thought not. Yeah, he wouldn't be dead within the time it took to drain someone of their blood, but he wouldn't last much longer.

_Now would be an awesome time to show up, Dean_, he thought wearily to himself as he entered the barn to the excitement of the vampires. Sam felt sickened by it. They were looking forward to watching him die.

He looked around and found the other captives watching him, faces pale with something very like horror. He ignored them and stared at the vampire in the cage.

Zane had stripped down to just his pants, hands wrapped, looking intimidating. Or he would have been if Sam had fought stronger beings before. Of course, never while he had been feeling so bad, but it was hard to be intimidated by something that looked so human, albeit a lean, muscled human.

Sam climbed into the cage and forced himself not to flinch when the door slammed shut behind him. Zane was grinning wildly, and the hunter stared back confidently. He prowled the cage, suddenly wanting, needing, this fight to be over and done with. He was sick of it. Sick of waiting.

The bell rang.

Sam waited for Zane to come to him. He didn't have to wait long. The instant the bell rang, the vampire rushed him. Sam watched, trying to concentrate only on his opponent, instead of taking in the overwhelming excitement of the nest. At the last minute he sidestepped, and the vampire skidded to a halt inches from the bars.

The vampire wasn't a convict though. He had more than one lifetime's knowledge of tricks and fighting. Instead of running into the bars, Zane took a hold of them and used them to keep balance as he spun, kicking out.

Sam ducked at the last minute, surprised by the speed, and lost his balance. He rolled backwards, getting to his feet as quickly as he could. As he regained his height he blocked a kick and two punches, before lashing out himself. He punched, and Zane evaded away from the side of the cage. Sam spun and kicked himself. And then Zane did something completely unexpected.

Instead of simply blocking the kick, the vampire used his strength to take the hit, merely grunting as Sam connected. And then he grabbed the hunter's leg, swinging hard and sending Sam flying into the bars.

He cried out, feeling the hit jar his already bruised body, and then again as he fell to the ground, wincing at the slight twist in his knee.

He pushed pain away, panting already, and looked up as Zane came at him, glee written all over his face. Sam didn't move as he watched a foot come at him. He had to fight smart, not hard.

At the last moment Sam repeated the vampire's trick, catching Zane's foot. The vampire was definitely as surprised as Sam had been and didn't react in time to stop the hunter kicking out to push him back. Except he kept a hold of the foot and Zane fell back with a loud thump.

Sam got to his feet, limping slightly as he moved away to put some distance between him and his opponent, hoping to give himself some time to recover slightly. No such luck; Zane stood in a fluid motion, limping for only a single stride as he barrelled in.

A flurry of punches and blocks followed. Sam frantically tried to keep up, to block every punch, defend every offence. But it seemed useless, and soon enough he was stumbling backwards, blood seeping from a cut on his forehead. Zane didn't give up there; the vampire had never had any intention of playing around. He wanted this fight over as well.

Instead of backing off, Zane came at him. Sam watched, waiting, and to him it was like the vampire slowed down, and the world moved in slow motion.

That anger that had seen him beat Bailly roared into life, and he felt a snarl contort his face. Then he forced it off, not willing to give into that darkness within him. The demon would never be right about him. The anger remained, the thought of being brought here to die making him furious. But he struggled to push it away, fighting two battles and trying to survive both. He knew if he kept on giving into the anger, kept on blanking out, he would inflict something on the world that was nasty and mean and not him.

So, battling fury, he watched as the world sped up once more, and Zane lashed out with a roundhouse punch. Sam blocked, just, and tried a punch himself, finding flesh deep under the vampire's arm. Ribs cracked beneath his fist, but didn't break, and Zane didn't seem to give a damn anyway. He didn't even grimace, didn't show any trace of pain on his face as he sent an uppercut driving into Sam's jaw.

His vision went white for a bare moment and once more he stumbled backwards. Again Zane followed, punching a dazed Sam once in the gut, once in the chest and again in the face.

Sam fell back against the cage, putting the back of his wrist to his bleeding nose. His eyes were watering from the impact, but he tried to shake it off. Again Zane closed in.

This time Sam managed to block three punches before one snuck through. The fist knocked every bit of air from his lungs and sent the hunter to his knees, gasping for breath. A follow up knee didn't help, and he collapsed to the ground.

Two kicks and Zane finally backed off, leaving his opponent groaning on the ground. As Sam tried to regain balance, or at least clear vision, Zane busied himself on the other side of the cage. Sam wasn't sure what went on, but by the time he had dragged himself to a sitting position, the vampire was holding onto a prod in one hand and a knife in the other.

"Oh come on," Sam complained breathlessly, getting quickly to his feet. He wasn't beaten yet. Though the first time the wrong end of the prod came into contact with him, he knew he would be.

Zane stalked closer, his devilish grin spreading over his face. Sam found himself hating the bastard like he had only ever hated one being before. And it wasn't like this creature was anywhere near as dangerous or evil as the demon that had killed his parents and his girlfriend.

The fight was over soon after that. Sam defended as well as he could when he was tired, dizzy with blood loss and bruised all over his body, but it was useless, and he knew it. He had known it the instant he walked into the cage and the door slammed shut behind him.

Zane swung with the prod, and Sam ducked, before tackling the vampire to the ground. It being in vain didn't matter, not anymore. He was a hunter, and a Winchester to boot. Stubbornness was hereditary.

He landed on top of Zane, knocking the prod out of his hand and leaning back to avoid the wild slash of the knife from cutting through his throat. Then he leaned back in, punching as many times as he could before Zane took a hold of his wrist. The vampire twisted and Sam was forced to turn with the motion or have his arm broken. Suddenly it was Zane on top, but the vampire didn't waste time with punches. With Sam on his stomach, the vampire pushed his captive arm up the hunter's back until a resounding pop was heard even above the cheers of the crowd.

Sam screamed as his shoulder dislocated, grabbing a hold of it as Zane stood and he could roll over. He didn't sit up, just clutched at the now useless limb, groaning.

Suddenly Zane was standing over him, prod back in hand. Sam felt a moment of panic before a long moment of whiteness as the vampire shocked him once more. It left him gasping, in pain, even more so as his body writhed a second time with the electricity coursing through it.

As the white cleared, Zane dropped the prod, his sadistic smile sending shivers through Sam. Though that might have been the after effect of the prod.

And then the vampire knelt by the hunter, knife glinting in the dimly lit barn as Zane lifted it above Sam, point aimed at his stomach. The vampire leaned in, grabbing onto Sam's uninjured shoulder and sitting him up.

"Thanks, hunter," Zane whispered menacingly. "Least you made me look good."

Sam stared into his opponent's eyes and didn't bother answering. The blade began plunging down.

* * *

Okay, so leaving it… there! I know, nasty, yeah? Sorry! You'll just have to tune in tomorrow night to see if Dean shows up to save his little brother.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14: The Last Fight

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Nasty stuff. Otherwise, same as usual.

**Author's Warning:** So, this is the second last chapter, peoples. Thanks to everyone who's reviewing! Hope you enjoy this slice of pie!

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Chapter 14: The Last Fight

Previously…

_And then the vampire knelt by the hunter, knife glinting in the dimly lit barn as Zane lifted it above Sam, point aimed at his stomach. The vampire leaned in, grabbing onto Sam's uninjured shoulder and sitting him up._

"_Thanks, hunter," Zane whispered menacingly. "Least you made me look good."_

_Sam stared into his opponent's eyes and didn't bother answering. The blade began plunging down._

* * *

The actual farmhouse seemed quiet as Dean and Holden approached. They did so on foot, not willing to alert any vampire to their presence before they could stake the place out.

It was just dark, the sun having set maybe half an hour ago. They were ready, willing, and determined to kill a few undead bastards the world had decided to call vampires. Each was armed to the teeth with blades dipped in dead man's blood, and Dean had pulled a second crossbow from somewhere, complete with dipped darts. Dean hoped it would be enough.

The house was clearly empty. Or rather, the barn was so obviously the centre of the night's attention that the two ignored the house.

Holden followed Dean silently around the barn as the two looked for any way into the place besides the too conspicuous double doors etched with light. They had gone around once, quickly, and found nothing. Back where they started, Dean turned to the cop.

"See anything?" the hunter asked. Holden shook his head.

"Nothing," the cop spat disgustedly.

Dean looked around, sighing, before something caught his eye. He took his hands off his head and walked over to the wall, peering at what looked like a small square nine or ten feet off the ground.

"That look like a door to you?" he asked Holden, who had been looking as well, a relieved smile spreading over his face.

"Could be," his companion answered. "Gimme a boost, let me have a look."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah right," he retorted. "I know what I'm looking at, Holden. You don't."

The cop crossed his arms. "You're a civilian, Connors. I'm not letting you take the lead on this."

Dean smothered a laugh. "Civilian? Copper, you have no idea what the hell you're dealing with. See, in my world, you're the civilian."

He sighed, seeing Holden about to answer back. "Look, dude. We don't have time to argue. My brother's in there, having who knows what done to him. Your brother-in-law's in there, dealing with the same thing. We don't have time to argue!"

Holden caved immediately. "Fine, let's do this bitch then."

They moved to the wall and Holden bent, cupping his hands. A moment later Dean was pushing open the small door, wincing as it creaked, but well aware that it wouldn't be heard over the multitude of cheers he could hear coming from the barn.

He looked in.

The first thing he noticed was the cage. Or rather, the two men inside it, fighting hard. He almost gave away his position as he saw Sam. His Sammy, his little brother, fighting hard against another man – a vampire Dean realized. He almost called out, and then again as he watched the vampire punch his little brother.

He tore his gaze away from the cage with a lot of difficulty to study the rest of the barn. About twenty vampires were the ones making all the noise, cheering as the vampire punched Sam again. On the other side there were about seven men, prowling inside their individual cages, watching the fight with frightening intensity.

He looked down, and almost fell off Holden's shoulders. Right there was a man staring up at him with surprise. He didn't recognise him, but he was obviously a prisoner, locked in his own cage. In fact, six or so cells ran along the wall, each holding one or two men. All of whom seemed to be staring at him.

Dean looked down and motioned that he was going in. Holden pushed and Dean tumbled noiselessly over the edge into the man's cell.

"Hey," Dean greeted quietly. "Dean Connors. Gimme a lift so I can bring my mate in?"

The man, still a little stunned, complied, and a moment later, Holden tumbled into the cell. He stood, dusting himself off, before looking up at the captive.

"James?" the man asked with relief.

"Blake!" Holden answered. "Thank God you're okay. Kate's been worried sick. She'll be so glad…"

Dean shut their reunion out as he stalked to the front of the cell. His heart thumped when he saw Sam was down, but certainly not out. The vampire had a knife, and some kind of baton thing, but Sam was on his feet, limping slightly and totally unaware of his imminent rescue.

The hunter made quick work of the lock on the cell he was trapped in and ran out silently, keeping his appearance unseen. He moved quickly onto the next cell, intent on letting everyone loose before he attacked. Holden and the other man, Blake followed, while Blake took two knives from Holden.

A blood-curdling scream made him stop two feet from the door.

He turned, face draining of colour, to see Sam rolling over, shoulder obviously dislocated. He couldn't move, he felt petrified; everyone did, even as the vampire leaned down and pressed the end of the baton against his brother.

He swore his heart stopped as Sam thrashed on the floor of the cage not once, but twice. It restarted sluggishly as the vampire dropped the prod. And Dean started moving as the vampire knelt by Sam and looked set to plunge the knife into his little brother's gut.

"Sam!"

* * *

Zane looked around at the scream, distracted for the moment from sinking the knife into Sam. The hunter gave a mental sigh of relief that he wasn't dead, and then punched Zane square in the jaw.

The vampire fell back as Sam groaned once at the pain in his shoulder. But he dealt with it and rolled over, grabbing the prod in his good hand.

He got to his feet simultaneously with the vampire. Zane looked murderous and kept on stealing glances around him, where the men who had been his prisoners a moment ago were now fighting the vampires. In the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean struggling to get to the cage, to get to him, but he had to ignore that too. But the knowledge that Dean was here gave him confidence, and he stood, crouched in a defensive stance, swinging the prod.

Zane glared at him, pale face etched in angry red. His grip on his knife tightened. "I'm still going to kill you hunter," he spat threateningly. Sam let his dislocated arm dangle, knowing it was a bad idea but needing his other free in order to defend. He determinedly ignored the pain shooting through his arm.

"Bring it on, bitch," he spat back, thumbing about for the switch that would send electricity coursing through Zane's body. Sam wanted to make him pay.

Zane leapt forward and Sam lashed out. The prod swung, like a baton, hitting the vampire in the side of the head. The blow knocked him back but Sam kept the same distance, moving forward and to the side. He swung again, this time catching Zane in the arm. The vampire howled, clutching at the bruised limb and Sam took the opportunity to land a blow in the open area just below the ribs.

He maintained the same distance again as Zane backed away, fear in his eyes for the first time. The hunter kept on advancing until the vampire backed right into the wall of the cage. Zane slashed wildly with the knife, but Sam blocked hard with the prod and the impact made the vampire drop his weapon. It clattered in the ground, but neither noticed how loud the sound was in the now quiet barn. All that mattered for both was the other, the fear in one's eyes, and the anger and hatred in the other's.

Sam took a final step forward, his knuckles white around the end of the prod. Eyes like steel, he didn't waver from staring deep into Zane's as he thrust the prod forward with all his wavering strength. Zane, despite his supernatural strength, gasped as the prod embedded itself in his gut.

Sam didn't stop there though. This bastard deserved pain. He had murdered, or caused the murder of dozens of men, good men, bad men, it didn't matter. Humans in any case. He had kidnapped Sam and so many others simply for the pleasure of watching them die. And that burned inside him as he triggered the electricity.

Zane screamed as it coursed through him, starting deep in his stomach and seeming to travel through his very blood. And Sam didn't care. He stared, the anger making him indifferent. The screams didn't affect him, the looks of every human and vampire still in the barn didn't affect him, Dean's cries at him didn't affect him. Because the anger made him ignore it, made him ignore everything except keeping a hold of that trigger and causing as much pain as he could.

* * *

Dean finally unlocked the door to the cage, his concentration a little frazzled by the constant screams of the vampire in the cage. The screams Sam was causing. He had no idea what had happened to his little brother to make him so thirsty for revenge, but he wasn't going to let it continue.

He raced over to the other side of the cage and grabbed Sam around the shoulders, dragging the younger hunter back. Still he didn't let go of the prod, pulling it from the impaled, bloodied vampire.

"Sam, chill!" Dean instructed loudly, blocking Sam's wild attempts at escaping this new foe. "Sam, it's me. Come on dude, calm down."

Footsteps hurried past; it was Blake, machete in hand, stolen from a downed vampire. He went by, giving Sam a sympathetic look, before putting the vampire in the cage out of its misery.

Dean turned away, glad that it was done, and concentrated back on Sam, who seemed to be coming out of some kind of trance. The younger man looked about, blinking forcedly before setting his gaze on Dean.

"Dean?" Sam asked wearily. Then his body seemed to collapse, exhaustion and pain rolling in as if it had been waiting for the moment Sam was safe to assail him. "About freaking time, man."

* * *

The lights of three ambulances swirled silently in the night. Cops milled about everywhere, making Dean uncomfortable where he stood next to Sam, who sat in the back of one of the ambulances. The cops had left them both about ten minutes ago, after Dean had told them the story he and Holden had decided on. According to the reports that would fill police files, he and the cop had arrived at the farm to find it empty of any and all kidnappers. And no one had any idea where they had gone.

In truth, they had burned the bodies while waiting for the cops and paramedics to show up, doing it quickly with the aid of gasoline from the trunk of the Impala. The ash had been spread around the place.

Dean raked worried eyes over his little brother. His dislocated arm had been fixed, and now hung in a sling. Dean had been shocked to see numerous bite marks littered over several bruises that made an interlocking pattern over his torso. But apart from that his brother was fine, at least physically. The prod had seemed to have no lasting effect on his heart and he had no concussion or broken bones.

But Sam had refused to talk to the police. In fact he hadn't said much since they left the barn, staring silently into the distance at something no one else could see.

Sam sat up straighter as the paramedics came back from checking others over. Dean watched them approach, and knew they were coming back to try to convince Sam to come to hospital. Dean would have been right along there with them if he had thought it would do any good. But his little brother was a stubborn ass, and he didn't want to go.

"You sure you don't want to come?" the taller man asked, his voice a little pleading. "You might still have some problems we can't find."

Sam shook his head. "I'll be fine. If I get into trouble, Dean'll take me."

The shorter man sighed. "Okay. If we can't convince you -."

"You can't," Sam interrupted, getting gingerly to his feet. His knee, while not permanently damaged, still created a limp. "I think you need your vehicle back."

They walked away before the paramedics could try further, Dean resisting from lending a hand to his limping brother. They found Holden and Blake by the barn, talking with another cop. The third man left as they approached, and the two greeted them tiredly.

"How you feeling?" Blake asked Sam. The younger man shrugged.

"As well as can be expected," Sam answered. Not that he had given anyone any indication of what they could expect. They had no clue what had happened to him in that house, not even Blake. "What about you?"

Blake smiled. "I'm fine. And I have you to thank for that." The cop shook his head. "I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, Sam. Bailly would have killed me if I fought him. You saved my life."

Sam blushed. "It's no big deal," he defended quietly, keeping his head down. Dean frowned, noticing that his brother didn't seem happy with the reminder. Then Sam's head snapped up.

"What happened to Boreal?" he asked, just remembering the vampire. "He wasn't with the lot that we smoked."

"Who?" Dean and Holden asked together, both confused. But Blake seemed to know who Sam was talking about. The cop shook his head.

"He escaped. Just as the fighting broke out, I saw him leave through the hatch. He seemed happy that James and Dean had turned up though."

Sam pursed his lips, thinking back. Yeah, he could see that. Boreal would definitely have been pleased at the decimation of the nest. He hadn't liked them. But he was still out there, sucking on innocent people. He supposed there wasn't much he could do about that.

"So, what are you two doing now?" Holden asked, looking between the brothers.

Dean glanced at Sam. "For now, we're sleeping. A lot. But we're leaving as soon as possible. This town's got too many bad memories."

For a wonder Sam flinched, but neither cop seemed to think much on it. Dean did, and he sighed inwardly, knowing that two days being held by vampires had done nothing to help his little brother. They would have to talk. And soon.

Holden nodded, sticking out his hand. "Thanks a lot, Connors," he said. "I couldn't have done this without your help."

Dean took the hand, his eyes conveying every bit of his own gratitude that he would never express in words. He shook Blake's hand as well, and Sam followed suit. And they turned and left, silence once more beginning to eat away at them.

* * *

I hope you like how I ended the Fight Club Sam was in. Lots of people were sure Dean was coming in to kick some vampire butt, and I tried, I really really did, but it just didn't seem to work! It was frustrating, to say the least. So, I hope this was okay enough.

Anywho, there's only one more chapter to go. I figure the boys need some closure before I let them loose on the next idea I have planned. I really didn't have the heart to leave Sam so emotionally fragile and brokeded.


	15. Chapter 15: Closure

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, peeps. You should have the picture by now.

**Warning:** Just unabashed angst and completely PG rated brotherly affection. Oh, and completely NOT PG rated swearing.

**Author's Note:** Well, I've made it to the end, peoples, all without my computer exploding… Um, anywho, thanks for reading! And to those awesome people who decided they'd be really really really nice and review, I love you! This last chapter is for you all!

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Chapter 15: Closure

It was later that night, or early the next morning that a ringing intruded on Dean's much wanted sleep. He groaned, fumbling about blindly for his cell, trying to wake up enough to hold a coherent conversation.

"Huh?" Dean greeted, rubbing his eyes, not awake enough yet to answer with the customary 'Hello'. The person on the other end seemed to understand though.

"Dean Connors?" the voice asked, and Dean had to think for a moment before he remembered he was Dean Connors.

"Uh," the hunter confirmed, stifling a yawn. Who was calling him at this God-forsaken hour of the morning?

"Hi, uh, sorry I woke you." Was it that obvious? Dean shook his head clear of sleep-induced fog. "But it's Blake McMillan. You know, James Holden's brother-in-law."

"Yeah, I know who you are," Dean answered, still wondering why. "What did you want?"

He knew it was blunt but it was anywhere between midnight and three in the morning, and he hadn't slept in a few days. Blake didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, is Sam there?" The man sounded nervous, but Dean was sure it was just his overactive imagination.

Actually opening his eyes now, Dean began answering before he had even looked across at the other bed. "Uh, yeah, hang on, I'll just have to… oh my God, that little shit."

Sam wasn't there. Jumping up, and tangling himself in the sheets, Dean cursed his way across the room, actually forgetting there was a phone at his ear. "Sam, where the fuck are you?" he called out into the room. He couldn't hear water running in the bathroom, but his keys were still lying where he had chucked them on the table.

"Dean, it's okay, I actually wanted to talk to you."

Blake's voice made him jump, right into the table. It shifted a small slip of paper free from the tangle of bigger sheets, and Dean squinted in the dark to read it.

_Dean, gone out for a walk._

That was it. Dean growled scrunching the note up into a little ball. "I'm going to kill him," he threatened, sitting down on his bed to find some clothes.

"Dean?"

Again the hunter jumped, still not completely awake. "Yeah, I'm here Blake. Sorry, what did you want?" Ah, there were his pants.

"I wanted to talk to you about Sam."

Dean's hands paused at taking his shirt off. "What about Sam?" he asked cautiously.

"Has he talked to you at all? About anything?"

The hunter sighed. "No, he won't. I tried, when we got back to the motel, but he just wanted to sleep." Little fucker, that was his excuse every time.

"You should. Something's not right with him."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned suspiciously, lacing up his boots.

"I mean, I know something happened to him. Something before he was taken by those vampires. Dean, your brother needs help. Like psychological help. He's having problems coping with something that's happened recently."

"Oh yeah?" Dean retorted defensively. "And what the fuck do you know about it?"

"No details," Blake assured hastily. "But… on the first night Sam was there, he fought. He actually took over my spot – he chose to fight. And… he was amazing."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, dude, he's a hunter. He knows how to do these things."

He could actually imagine Blake shaking his head. "No, he was… he was almost homicidal, Dean. He almost killed the man he fought. He beat the crap out of him. And afterwards he couldn't remember doing any of it. He said that he blanked out, and _woke_ just as he was about to kill the guy."

Dean went still, his own breathing suddenly loud in his ears. Blake hadn't finished speaking, but the hunter kind of zoned out for a moment. When he came back, the cop was still talking.

"… and he was talking about this darkness inside of him. Sam was really angry, and then what happened tonight, with Zane, I don't think they exactly managed to beat it out of him. I think they just made it worse, gave him more of a reason to accept it-."

Dean cut him off there. "Look, Blake thanks. I'll speak to Sam. Thanks for calling." And he hung up. A second later he was out the door. He even knew where he was headed, some knowledge in the back of his mind telling him exactly where he would find his brother.

* * *

The house was a burnt crisp, the whole second story blackened. Dean slowed to a walk as it came into view, and memories almost twenty-three years old flashed before his mind. He pushed it aside, thinking not about the past now, but about the future. And about his brother's definite lack of one if they didn't sort through these issues soon.

Dean approached Sam from behind, not creeping, but still moving in that silent Winchester way that helped his family excel in hunting.

"Hey Dean," his little brother greeted softly from where he sat in the grass watching the house. To his credit, Dean didn't jump – okay, so his heart gave more than a twitter – and continued on his way into a sitting position beside Sam.

He didn't speak for a moment, thinking about the right words to say, the right way to bring up the topic. He knew the ever-chatty Sam wasn't about to help him. He was wrong.

"Three people lived there," Sam said suddenly. He didn't tear his gaze from the house. "A woman named Yvonne Harris owned it. She lived there with her daughter, the one she adopted fifteen years ago. Her name's Amelia, and she's nineteen. Barely nineteen. Just over two years ago she fell in love with some dirtbag from the wrong side of the tracks who got her pregnant and then ditched her when he found out he was going to be a daddy. And then there was Amelia's son. His name's Drew, Dean. He was six-months-old the night Dad… He's named after Amelia's older brother, the one who died when she was four, because he saved her from abusive foster parents. Didn't save himself. Saved her instead. And I nearly killed them all. I nearly destroyed their lives."

Dean stared at Sam. "How the hell do you know all that?" he asked, sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"The demon knew it. He shared it with me just before he tried to kill Amelia."

Okay, so he had been wrong again. It wasn't a matter of simple dislike; he _hated_ that answer. He sighed. "Sam, what's going on?"

Thankfully this time Sam didn't try to make him back off. The younger man just shook his head. "I don't know, Dean," Sam answered, and his big brother could hear the fear and pain in his voice. "I feel like I'm losing myself."

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Tonight… I didn't even know what I was doing. I tortured that vampire, Dean. I tortured him. And I don't even know why. I have no clue why I wanted to hurt him so badly."

"What did he do to you?" Dean asked gently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Sam gave a small laugh. "Nothing," he admitted. "I mean… not nothing. He hit me, and shocked me, and they bit me… but it's not like I've never put up with that before. I've dealt with far worse, but this time… I just wanted to make him suffer."

"Were you angry?" Dean asked.

"Furious," Sam whispered vehemently. "I was so furious, at being dragged out there just so they could watch me die. But… I don't know, Dean. I don't know what's happening to me, and it scares the hell out of me."

Sam's voice was starting to break and Dean let his eyes drop from him. "Sam, what happened? With the demon, I mean?"

The younger hunter flinched, closing his own eyes. Dean imagined thousands of images racing over those closed lids, each terrifying his brother more and more. But he began speaking, softly but quickly, as if the moment he stopped he wouldn't be able to continue.

"It possessed me, and I didn't even know it until the next day. It tried to kill you, and I stopped it, and it punished me every time. It turned my mind against me, burning it from the inside out. It made me kill some woman who's name I don't even know, and who's name I don't ever want to know, but I know her face is going to be there forever, just waiting to appear. It almost made me kill the girl in that house, almost made me destroy her like it destroyed Mum, like it destroyed Jess, and for a moment I was going to let it happen because all I could see was Mum and Jess.

And then Drew cried out, and I saw her, I saw Amelia… I stopped it, just… it almost got her, and then it took back control and it ripped my mind apart. It was like being raped, Dean. It knew everything about who I was, what I was, it knew things I didn't even know. And then it took it, and it tried to kill you again, and it made me kill Dad… and it told me…"

Dean paused then, thinking, hoping against hope that it hadn't told Sam what John had told him…

"It told me there was a darkness in me, that I couldn't stop it…. It told me I was evil."

He finally stopped there, his whole confession confusing and erratic and it tugged on Dean's heart until he found himself nearly crying at the all too real image of his broken brother.

"Sam, you're not evil," he told his brother firmly, his voice so full of emotion that Sam finally opened his eyes. Dean wasn't shocked at all to see him crying silently. "You're in no way evil. If you were evil, the demon wouldn't have needed to _punish_ you. It wouldn't have needed to fight tooth and nail to kill me, or to kill Dad. And you wouldn't be sitting here breaking down over it."

Sam shook his head. "I know I'm not evil," he confessed. "But there is a darkness there, Dean. There is, and you can't deny it. In the nest, fighting that convict… I was so angry, and there was no reason behind it. No reason at all. And I almost killed him."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "That's not darkness, Sammy. That's humanity. You had just been possessed, you had just watched Dad die… it's enough to send anyone over the edge."

Sam closed his eyes tight at his words. Then, so soft Dean could barely hear, he whispered, "I miss him so much, Dean."

The younger man gave a small sob. "I spent my whole life angry at him, angry for making us hunters, for making us soldiers. I never got to tell him the truth. Never! And I never will. Because I didn't pay enough attention, because I decided to go off to school, because I decided to abandon my family for my own selfish reasons. Dad's dead because of me."

"No, he isn't!" Dean cried, moving to face Sam. "Dad is dead because the demon wanted him to be dead. None of it is your fault. Hear me Sam. Dad knew everything you ever wanted to tell him. He did! It's not your fault he's gone, Sammy. He didn't blame you, I don't blame you… Sam…"

Dean sighed, wondering how to put his words. "Sammy, Dad loved us. And he knew we loved him. Just because you went to college doesn't mean he wouldn't have died anyway. Life sucks Sam, it's one of the things we deal with as hunters. You deserved the chance at being normal, and Dad thought so too. He just didn't want you to be alone. Sam…"

Before he could continue, his little brother gave another sob. "Dean, stop. Please… I… I can still remember it, you know? How it felt as the demon ripped him apart from the inside. I can still feel the power, and the evil… and… it was like it was consuming me while the demon killed Dad."

Dean jumped on his words. "See, _consumed_. Sam, I don't care what powers or abilities you have. As much as it would be awesome, you're not going to be much of a threat to a centuries-old demon. And when it killed Dad, you'd already been fighting it for a week. You were exhausted, and hurt… and that bastard had ripped you apart already. It wanted Dad dead and there was no way in hell you were going to be able to stop it."

He sighed, feeling his throat slightly constrict. "Sam, you can't keep on doing this. Dad wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to. I get it okay, I do. Maybe I can't really understand it, but I get it. I get you're angry, and hurt, and afraid. But you can't let it eat away at you. You can't. You'll die. And that's not happening. I'm not losing you too, Sam. I won't."

Sam looked up at the house again, a sad smile spreading over his face at his brother's stubbornness. Dean let himself smile as well. "So, am I making sense, little brother?"

Sam nodded, taking a deep shuddering breath. "Yeah…" Then his face hardened. "But I can't just shut off the guilt, Dean. I can still feel it… all of it…" He shuddered again, this time from some unseen horror. "It's like it's still in there, reading everything, knowing everything. It's this huge weight in my head that won't leave, a constant reminder of everything that bastard made my body do…" He began crying once more, still doing it silently. "It's like the demon's still in there and I can't get rid of it. And I'm so tired, Dean. I'm so tired of fighting it."

Dean's heart broke again with Sam's voice and he leaned in, gathering his brother in a hug and squeezing hard. Finally Sam let everything go, unable to hold back in the safety of his brother's arms, where nothing could touch him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered. "It's gone, and it's not coming back. I swear to you, I won't let it in there again. You don't have to fight it alone. You don't have to."

Neither brother was sure how long they stayed like that, on the moist grass, just hugging, Dean trying to piece together his broken baby brother. He still couldn't imagine what Sam must have gone through, nor how he had managed to survive this long with that surely heavy feeling of a demon in his head. But he'd be damned before he let Sam give in to that darkness the demon had spoken of, that darkness that was simply a chaotic whirlwind of human emotion created by a dark cocktail of fear, guilt, depression and being corrupted.

What felt like hours later, Sam gave Dean a little embarrassed push and pulled away, his face red. "Sorry, Dean…" he started. Dean stopped him with a gentle smile.

"No need, Sammy. I'm here for you, you know that." It wasn't a question, nor did he need any answer. It was a statement of knowledge. He knew that Sam knew that he would be there for his little brother any time and any way he needed it.

Sitting back in his spot beside Sam, he glanced sideways at the younger man. Sam seemed better now; he had stopped crying, and there seemed to be a freedom to his posture, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders… or from his mind. Dean gave a dramatic sigh.

"You know, Sammy-boy. You just used up your quota of chick-flick moments for like three lifetimes."

Sam gave a choking laugh, and Dean was pleased to hear it. And together, they sat smiling, watching the house and waiting for the sun to dawn on a new, frightening, exciting day.

* * *

Okay, so writing this last chapter was like walking an incredibly thin line between patheticSam and what I wanted it to be. I don't like making Sam seem weak, because he's just as strong as his brother, but he'd been through a very traumatic experience, and I knew he needed to let it out. And we all know Sam (in no bad way AT ALL) would in all likelihood cry from that. Hell, Dean cried when he suspected that John had died for him, and he's a hundred times more self-contained than his bro. Did I do okay?

Oh, and that hug was especially for ghostbehindyou, who's been wanting one since Good Samaritan.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed. And there will be another story, if you want! Bye!


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